Keeping the Moon
by I'veGotAnotherConfessionToMake
Summary: But it's strange, when you've always been told something is true, like the moon will come back. You need proof. And while you wait, you feel the entire balance of your world just tipping-- Sarah Dessen
1. Satisfied?

**A/N: Well here we are! The sequel of **_**The Art of Seduction**_**! Hope that y'all like it. This story isn't going to be as funny as the first part of **_**Seduction**_**; it's darker and a lot more angst-y, so be prepared!**

**OK, so I know that this was supposed to be out there a FREAKING long time ago… I even told people that I'd have it out on Valentine's Day. Well, obviously, I lied, but not purposefully, mind you. I just had no idea how to start out. So I've been listening to Eddie Izzard, writing my novel, applying to university, and making daily trips to the post office to see if my reply has come in yet, even though it has to travel a freakin' long way to Merry Ol' England, and eating candy like a sugar addict. I blame it on the candy, really. Anywho, I couldn't figure out how to start this, I've rewritten it at least twenty times, and this is what I came up with. Hope it satisfies all of y'all and you love it! And now I'll stop this insane rambling….**

Chapter One: Satisfied?

_And she's got a man that she wants to leave, 'cause he can't seem to make her happy. Does it have to be wrong, to make it feel right? Tell me why ain't nobody satisfied?—Ashley Monroe_

Ron wasn't stupid.

No, Ron was just the sidekick. His uptake was a bit slow, but when it came down to it, he figured out the answer. Eventually. Eventually, everything fell into place, and even Ronald Weasley _knew_ what everyone else was trying so desperately to keep from him.

And now. He knew. He had to know. _Everyone_ seemed to know. And yet, no one mentioned _it_. That was how he referred to this atrocity: _It_. He couldn't bring himself to call it what it really was, but his sister had no problem in saying it in the most brutal of ways. Well, at least until Harry put it to her that if she didn't stop, _he'd_ make _her_ sleep on the couch. We can all figure out what happened to them…

But what really buttered his toast was the fact that Hermione acted as though nothing were out of the norm. She still made his meals, watched their son and cleaned his house and his clothes, only thing was that now, she didn't complain or mope about the house. Twice he'd caught her humming, and once even, he found a set of lingerie in her closet that he'd definitely never seen on her or since.

And yet… he couldn't quite bring himself to confront her. No, that was insane and truthfully, he'd tried no more or less than seven times. And each time he'd had a panic attack before he could yell the dreaded question at her. Before he could force it out of her, to make her see that he couldn't, and wouldn't, be walked all over like he was a bloody door mat.

Hermione, however, was, true to her nature, meticulous about her rendezvous, and never slipped in calling him "Draco" or "Malfoy" or whatever she called _him_, and Ron was personally very glad. Nothing would have put him in more pain than he was already in then if Hermione were to call him by her lovers' name when he, Ron, made love to her. Not that he did _that_ very often either. He couldn't bring himself to touch her anymore than was necessary, but he was male, and the need of satisfaction was strong at times, and he would never lower himself to Hermione's level. He wasn't going to go down that road again. But while he was making love to her, it was easy for him to imagine that the sheen in her eyes, and the lust she harbored in her irises was solely for him. It was so great to feel wanted, and needed. Then it was over, and with it came the cold reality that nothing in this world could make Hermione Granger-Weasley truly and only his. He was beginning to accept that. But that didn't mean he'd let her go. No, that was too easy, and too damning of his pride. He'd hold onto that woman until he was bloody well _forced_ to let go.

Ron was doing good in getting up every morning and eating the food she made for him, and kissing both her and her love child without grimacing, going to work and making money that he _shared_ with her, and out of the goodness of his heart, coming home every night and going to the bed he shared with his adulterous wife and repeating the process. Someone should award him with a medal. It was hard enough just keeping to himself when his receptionist paid a bit more attention to him than was necessarily proper, or even when she wore her blouse with the top two buttons undone, hinting at what she _could_ be hiding. Yes, Ron Weasley was a man of self control.

But as everything is nice, and fun, and carefree, and things seem to be going well, even when they weren't, alas, the shit must hit the fan.

Hermione was trying to be careful. She wasn't sure, per se, if her secret life was out yet, but she had a fair mind that people knew. She just hoped Ron didn't. She wouldn't be able to bear that pain if Ron knew. How would she tell him that she wanted her daughter to know her true father? How was she supposed to tell him eventually that she'd cheated on him AGAIN? That she still loved _him_, and always would… That that love will never fade, no matter how hard she tried?

It was getting so hard to not tell Grace the truth, though she knew that the younger she was, the more accepting her daughter would be. If she waited much longer, Grace would be twenty five and getting married and instead of Draco walking her down the aisle, it would be Ron, who would be wearing that grimace of a smile he held only for her daughter. Oh, she knew that smile. He'd worn it ever since the news of the Malfoy's heir return. The day the papers had published picture after picture with the _Where was he hiding, and WHY? _slogan that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

In hindsight, it made it hard for Hermione to meet him anywhere for their brief breaks with reality, but it also made it more fun. It was an amazing turn on to know that at any moment, someone could find them and find out. That was until she was trying to leave and found the thought of the ENTIRE wizarding world thinking her a whore sunk in…

No, she didn't want that. It was too embarrassing, and despite what front she put up, she cared what people thought of her. She cared, maybe even a little too much, and all of this bloody caring put her in a very bad predicament. Anyone else would have just said "fuck it" to the world and gone off, and been happy with the person they really truly cared about. But not Hermione. She couldn't do that… No, she'd be with Ron until Draco _forced_ her to leave him.

**-x-**

Grace Sara-Beth Granger was smarter than most six-year olds. She could read every book in her room, and even some of the ones in her mother's collection without mistake, could tell you the logic behind long division and even begin to do it, and tell you the multiples of five all the way up to two hundred and forty.

Yes, Grace Sara-Beth Granger knew that there was something different about her, if not by the sheer capacity of her very young brain, then it was her looks. She bore no resemblance to any of the Weasley clan, all of whom had flaming red hair, bright eyes, a temper the size of Africa, and a warm, caring heart. No, Grace was none of these things. Her hair was pale, and so light that in sunshine it was transparent. Her skin was so white, it was considered sickly, but burned when exposed to sunlight. And her eyes: Her silver, molten eyes were sharp, and held anything but brightness when facing something as trivial, in her mind, as family. She was quick to anger and to accuse, never able to step up to her mistakes, and chose instead to sweep everything under the mat, as though it had never happened. There was a certain part of her brain that told her every time she went to the Weasley's humble abode that she was better than these people and caused her to turn her nose up at modest accommodations. It was at these times that her mother would slip and say something like, "You are so much like your father Grace, its unreal."

So she vowed to get to the bottom of this. She would find out just why all the Weasley's looked down on her and even looked pityingly at her mother who would just shake her head as her eyes clouded over and she was lost in "Hermione-land", as the adults called it.

It took her two years to come to the perfect moment of looking for the answer. She was finally able to stay home for brief periods of time, by herself, and trusted enough to neither a) let in strangers b) set the house on fire and c) basically destroy everything. For a maximum of three hours, Hermione and Ron left her alone in the house, provided for the fact that they had shopping to do and dragging a whiney eight-year-old would do nothing for either of their nerves.

"Promise if anything happens, you'll phone immediately!" Hermione said as she pulled on her coat and she attempted to write down a series of numbers on a piece of paper at the same time. "Here's my cell phone and Grandma Sara's and also the Ms. Brown's number, and even-"

"Hermione!" Ron said loudly, taking the pen from her hand and leading her away. "I think she gets it! She's smart enough to know what to do."

"Yeah, Mum," Grace mumbled, her arms tightly crossed over her chest and a scowl that deeply resembled Draco Malfoy on her face. Again, Hermione's face crumbled at that look, as Ron's ears turned beet red and it was all he could do to not run screaming from the house. Juggling Jackson on her hip, Hermione smiled at her daughter, who everyday looked more and more like Malfoy, and ran a hand over her hair. It was in these moments that Grace would admit to loving the feeling of her mother's hands. Hermione Granger wasn't one from coddling and over-affection towards her children. "I'll be fine."

"I know, dear," Hermione said, dropping her hand to her side. Grace instantly missed the sensation. "I'm just being a mother: It's my job to worry about you."

"How long will you be gone?" Grace asked, mentally formulating a time-line in her mind for her excursion.

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly, as though she saw through Grace's question, just not the reason why, and replied slowly and evasively, "A couple of hours, maybe."

Grace nodded her head, the scowl that had been so deeply rooted on her features melting into her childlike façade of innocence. This was the way she got most anything she wanted, and she used it to her full advantage.

Just as Hermione was about to ask a question, Ron poked his head back into the room, breaking the mother-daughter moment and said, "If we don't leave now, Harry and Ginny are going to think we aren't coming and leave!"

"Bye, honey," Hermione said absently, grabbing her purse and hurrying out the door after her husband without a backward glance. Grace sighed and went over to the window facing the front of the house, watching as her parents walked off down the lane, talking to one another and appearing to have more than just a two-inch space between them.

They walked stiffly down the road and turned a corner, walking just a bit faster before they finally disappeared from view.

Grace sprang into action. She ran down the hall, her stomach consumed in excitement and her breaths light and fast into her parent's room and straight to her mother's closet. Once, she had seen the box, nothing of pivotal importance in appearance, being hurriedly stashed away in a back corner as she came into the room followed by her father.

The answers, she felt, lie in that box.

Pulling her mothers' vanity stool into the closet, she pressed it as close as she could to the wall of clothes, Grace climbed onto the chair and used her abnormal height to move around the shoe boxes and sewing kits that littered the shelf.

If only she could do magic, then she'd just summon it, as she was sure her mother did whenever she took it down.

After ten minutes of searching and even touching the walls to find a secret compartment, revealed nothing. Grace sighed in despair and clambered down off the stool, dragging it back to its rightful place. She stood in the middle of the room, looking about at her parent's belongings. The bed, the bed-side tables… A desk and her mother's vanity. The door leading to the bathroom… There wasn't a place that Grace could think to look where her mother would have hidden it. But she had to find it; she had to know the answer to her true identity.

Grace sat on the edge of the bed and tried to think like her mother. Where would she hide something she didn't want anyone to find? And yet, using her mother's logic, it would be somewhere completely ostentatious, right out there in the open for everyone to see, and yet for no one to give a second glance to.

Springing from the bed, Grace bounded over to the vanity and began to open the three separate jewelry type boxes that sat on the glass table top. The first held her mother's necklaces and earrings, and even a velvet pouch holding Grace's first tooth and her baby ring and bracelet. She sighed and closed the lid before moving on to the next box.

Mementos, a silver badge with a red and gold lion embossed across the front, a pennant of silver and emerald green rolled tightly in a coil with a great serpent on the front and a ring, silver in color, with a small, modest emerald and a elegant M inscribed on the band lay among the other things littered in the box. Grace's eyes widened in wonder. Hurriedly, she sat on the floor, cradling the box in her lap.

She knew the story of Gryffindor and Slytherin, and recognized the two topmost pieces for what they were. Why on earth would her mother hold something from a rival house… unless… It belonged to her _true_ father. It was the ultimate romantic story… Something so unlike her mother, and yet, Grace could see her mother partaking in something as scandalous as this. Her mother was not someone to follow the rules of love and affection, that Grace knew first hand.

Grace fingered the pennant, wondering if her father had worn it, or if her mother had worn it under her uniform in a secret support of her rival lover. It filled her with excitement.

Below the badge and pennant was a series of photographs and letters tied together with a scarlet ribbon. Grace took these out and set them on the floor beside her. At the very bottom was a small, gold ring. Furrowing her brow, Grace reached in and pulled on the ring, to reveal a false bottom. And there at the bottom, covered with dust, was a great key. It had a black, silk ribbon tied to the top that was wilted and fraying. The key itself was long, with a thin body and two teeth at the end. The handle was done in a very ornate M just like the ring she had found in the top section of the box. The M was enveloped in the skeleton of a dragon, its mouth open and teeth bared menacingly. Grace refused to touch it, though she longed to feel its weight in the palm of her hand. There was something familiar in her bones to the key, something ancestral.

Grace snapped the false bottom closed, and quickly stuffed the badge and pennant back into their respective places. She stopped when she picked up the two piles of letters and photographs. Dare she? Replacing the letters, Grace pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully between her bottom and upper rows of teeth, a habit she had inadvertently picked up from her mother.

The photographs didn't move, as she was used to seeing in the wizarding world, but instead stood still like the ones at her grandparents home. They were arranged so that if one were to look at the top and bottom of the pile, they would see only the backs of the photographs, but for one which stuck out at the top, as though it had been haphazardly stuffed back into the stack. Only the tops of the heads were showing, one brunette and wild, and the other, pale blond, so much like her own, sleek in appearance.

With shaking fingers and a wildly beating heart, Grace slid the picture out of the stack, her heart nearly stopping when she looked at the two faces captured on the film. One was obviously her mother, smiling like a maniac, her face morphed into one of complete adoration, a look Grace had never seen in person. Hermione looked so completely happy, and complete, and satisfied… Something so unlike her as of late…

Finally, Grace forced herself to look at the other in the photo, and nearly gasped in surprise. It was as though she were looking at a twin; there were her lips, and her pointed nose and chin. Her hair, pale as moonlight and her eyes which pierced the soul, there it all was, right there, embodied in a man.

He wasn't looking at the camera, but instead at something just over Hermione's head which was tucked underneath his chin. He wasn't scowling, nor was he smiling. He simply looked… content with the way things were in his time.

Hurriedly, Grace untied the scarlet ribbon binding the pictures together and dropped it on the floor, shuffling the pictures so that they all faced the same way before she began to look through them.

There were some that were just of her mother, taken at odd angles as though the taker didn't know how to properly hold the camera, and others just of the man she now thought of as her father. In some he was scowling, pouting into the camera in a childlike manner, clothed in an emerald uniform that looked like quidditch gear. In others he simply looked into the lens, as though caught of guard. There were a few of the couple kissing, which Grace looked imploringly at, wondering if maybe she would have seen this everyday for the rest of her child-life, had things gone differently in the past, things that she didn't know…

Shuffling through the photos again, Grace selected one photo, the first one she had seen and tucked it away under her shirt before tying the ribbon back around the photos and placing it back in the box. She fingered the pennant again, and ran her fingers over the cold, silver metal of the Head Girl badge, before snapping the lid closed and replacing the box back on the glass table top, between bottles of perfume and a modest supply of makeup her mother only ever wore to special occasions.

The room felt overbearing when Grace walked across the carpeted floor and stood in the doorway, looking back in. Almost as though it knew that she had found its secret, one it had sworn to always protect.

Grace ran down the hall to her own room and pulled the picture out from under her shirt and stared at it, running her fingers lightly over both people before looking up and around her room to find the perfect place to hide it. She first put it in her favorite book, but knew immediately, that would be the first place her mother would look, and then placed it at the bottom of her jewelry box. Another place Hermione would look. Grace held the photo in her hands tightly, gripping it in sweaty fingers, wishing for a place she could hide it where no one would find it. Her eyes landed on her night table, and the lamp sitting just next to her bed. She hurried over and sat on her bed, lying sideways and tucking the photo into the thin band just inside the shade. She pulled on the cord and turned on the light, illuminating the picture. She pulled the cord again and the photo was bathed in darkness.

It wasn't until Grace heard her parents return home that she stood from her bed and left her room, not wanting to be caught staring at her mother's deepest secret.

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**A/N: I know you all want Draco right away. But to be honest, he didn't work in the first chapter. He might be there next chapter, I don't know. I don't plan ahead, just write whatever comes to me. So if he works, he works. **

**This might not be what you wanted, but hey, this was the best version I came up with. Just be happy that I finally got this out! Haha! The lyrics were from Ashley Monroe's song **_**Satisfied**_

**As always, review!**

**--I've Got Another Confession to make--**


	2. The Balance of My World

Chapter Two: The Balance of My World is Tipping

"Wherever you will go,

I will let you down,

But this lullaby goes on."

--_Someone Like You_ by Sarah Dessen

She was frantic. She scoured her bedroom, upturned everything, including the bed before moving on through the house to Grace's bedroom and even her son's room. Nothing; it was no where to be found.

As she moved into the library/study at the back of the house, she felt the prickling sensation of tears at the back of her eyes, and didn't even bother to keep them from falling down and splotching ink on the papers littering the desk. Haphazardly, she took books down from the shelves and shook them roughly, wincing slightly when pages fell from the binding, but not caring enough to cease her destruction of literature. Her hands destroyed the frames on the mantle, smashing the glass and ripping the photos from their places. The occupants of the photos made movements of disproval, shaking their fists and clinging to the loved ones, so that they would not be separated.

Tears fell faster down her cheeks and she fell in a crumbled heap on the hearth, pulling her knees up to her chest and pressing her eyes into her kneecaps. She heard the front door slam and lifted her head, not bothering to notice the little, black crescent moons her mascara had made her jeans. If she had paid attention, she would have run her fingers under her eyes and removed the evidence of her tears, but she was in a desperate situation.

Standing and running from the room, her anger returned full force.

Ron, who held Jackson in his arms, and Grace were walking into the kitchen when Hermione stormed in, thus robbing the members of her family speechless. Ron nearly dropped Jackson at the sight of Hermione's black smudged eyes and her hair wild and untamed on her head. Grace started to laugh after a few seconds of blatant staring: She was ignored though as Hermione opened her mouth to speak.

"Where is it?!"

Grace stopped laughing immediately, shrinking into her seat and guarding her face into a stare of unimportance. Ron's eye brows furrowed deeply.

"What are you talking about?" He questioned, setting Jackson on the tiled floor, who sat staring up at his parents with wonder. "I don't know what-"

"Don't play _stupid_! I _KNOW_ you took it! You've known all along about _them_ and hated that I never got rid of them!" Hermione screamed. Jackson and Grace simultaneously turned in stride to watch their mother. She was so angry, electricity could have cackled off her wild tendrils of hair. "Tell me where they _**ARE!**_"

"Hermione," Ron said, raising his hands in front of him in surrender. "I didn't take anything of yours!"

"**LIAR!"** Hermione screeched. Ron wouldn't have been surprised if steam billowed from her ears or if she levitated off the ground with the anger she had locked inside of her. "Don't feed me that rubbish! You're not _as_ stupid as you make out!"

"Yes, because I'm just Ron Weasley, the _stupid_ husband of the smartest-witch-of-our-age Hermione Granger!" Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest as his ears turned a fantastic shade of scarlet.

"I didn't say that," Hermione breathed, panting furiously, her chest rising and falling maniacally. "Don't start putting words in my mouth. Now. Tell me where you put them."

"I think it would help if I knew just what it was that I was supposed to have taken," Ron said, stepping nearer to Hermione, but remaining just out of arms reach.

Hermione's eyes widened. "The nerve! First you put words in my mouth, stating that I said something that I _clearly_ didn't! And _now_ you tell me that you don't know what you took? Are you _trying_ to make yourself into an imbecile, because Ronald, you're doing a marvelous job."

Ron's eyes narrowed dangerously. Grace gulped from where she sat and even stood silently and pulled Jackson away across the floor close to the table where he was out of range of any dangerous wayward spells hitting him.

The pair was now nose-to-nose, both with crossed arms.

"I think, _dear_, that it'd be best if you told that _thing_," He gestured towards Grace who had the nerve to stand to her feet, place both hands on her hips and draw in a collective breath that faintly resembled what one would do when deeply offended, "The truth about her birth. Or maybe even her _brother_."

Grace looked down at Jackson. He looked okay to her, but who was she to judge? Maybe all babies drooled all over your things and did nothing but eat, sleep, poop and live to annoy you? Turning back to the conversation, she was just in time to witness Hermione raise her hand and slap Ron across the face.

Ron's head snapped to the side, his blue eyes fiery. "At least I know that Jackson's really mine, what with you tramping yourself around with _him_."

Hermione had the decency to look scandalized. Who else knew? If she could have, she would have slapped him. But through experience, she knew that words stung deeper than actions.

"Maybe I just charm Jackson to look like you every morning, because in reality, when he makes love to me, at least it's pleasurable and I don't have to think about everything I should be doing."

He'd done it only once before. And even then, he'd known that no matter how angry he was at her, to hit a woman was something you just _didn't do_. But when she stood there, that smirk on her face that screamed Draco Malfoy and had the nerve to tell him that he was bad in bed when he _knew_ he made her scream in pleasure at least fifty percent of the time was the icing on the cake of self-control.

The slap echoed around the otherwise silent kitchen. Hermione stood stunned for a total of thirty seconds before she snapped back into reality and turned slowly to face him, her hand cradling her cheek softly. And then her eyes hardened and she turned on her heel, marched over to her two children who cowered back in fear and took them both into her arms.

Walking from the room she magicked a suitcase to begin packing her things and also one of Jackson and Grace's things. She then shrunk the filled cases and stuffed them deep in her pockets.

"Come on," She said to Grace who had disappeared briefly into her room and was currently tucking something down the front of her shirt. Tucking Jackson more securely in her arms and taking Grace's arm she was just about to apparate when Ron came into the hallway.

"Running away to him, are you?" He leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. To anyone else he would have been as nonchalant as anyone could possibly manage, but Hermione knew Ron better than anyone else, and knew that he was holding in the infamous Weasley temper.

"What's it matter to you? After all, all I do is tramp myself around, might as well do it when you know. Just to clear things up," Hermione replied. She took a firmer hold on Grace and turned on the spot, imagining the grand house he had been hiding out in.

The dark hallway disappeared and Hermione and Grace found themselves standing in the bright sunshine, just down the slope of the lawn from a very grand house.

"Where are we?" Grace asked as Jackson began to sob hysterically, calling out in his baby talk for Ron.

"I'll explain inside," Hermione said just as a man with platinum hair came traipsing from the house, the sun glinting off his hair like a beacon. Grace strangely, and quite unlike her, recoiled behind Hermione, who had taken off at a brisk pace for the house and dragged her daughter behind her.

"Hermione?" Draco Malfoy called, holding a hand up to his face to shield his eyes from the harsh sunlight. "What's going on? Why have you brought kids-?"

Grace could have died from the wonderful sensation of seeing him in person. He had gained weight since the time the pictures were taken, and his hairline had receded faintly, so minimally that Grace only noticed because she spent great periods of time staring at the photo currently stuffed down her shirt. As the group neared him, she saw his grey eyes boring into her and looked down in embarrassment, her blond hair falling around her face like a curtain. It didn't strike her that she had indeed seen this man before, and had been quite rude, even punched him in the unmentionables.

"Hermione, are you alright? What's happened?" Draco asked when he finally reached her. If he hadn't loved her so much, he would have visibly started by her rather haggard appearance, but years of hiding emotion didn't pay off for nothing. Instead he merely blinked a couple of times before averting his eyes once more to his daughter who was still hiding behind her mother's body.

He was confused as to why she was suddenly so shy. In the bookstore when he had first seen her, she'd had no problem in telling him her piece of mind. So what was the change of heart? Unless Hermione had told her…?

Hermione didn't answer but instead started to cry and threw herself into Draco's arms. He tried to hug her, but Jackson didn't like him so close and kept shoving his hands away with all his might.

"I left!"

"Well, that's rather apparent, love," Draco said softly, smoothing his hands through her hair and running his fingers under her eyes, wiping away the remnants of dried mascara from her skin.

"If you're just going to be an ass then forget it!" Hermione cried, taking Grace's arm and turning to march back down the slope to the apparition point.

"Hermione, wait!" Draco said, running after her and stopping Hermione before she could apparate away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Come inside, and talk about it. You can set them up in a room and we'll talk. I think I can already feel myself burning."

Under any other normal situation, Hermione would have laughed. But she was not in an amused manner and instead stalked off up the slope to the house, leaving Grace behind to stare imploringly at Draco.

"Uhm," Was all Draco could force out before Grace sighed and hurried off after her mother, her blond hair shinning after her. His first impression to his child was magical, of that he was sure, he thought sarcastically as he too followed the trio into the house, Jackson's wails still audible when Hermione entered the front door.

Merlin, this was going to be a long time.

**-x-**

Hermione lay Jackson down in one of the many guest suites, finally getting him to fall into a fitful sleep. She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled a hair tie from her bag, pulling her back and winding the long strands into a bun. It was then that she took a look in the mirror. She was surprised that Draco had even let her into the house, what with the way she looked. Black circled her eyes and ran in tracks down her cheeks. Where Ron had slapped her was still a red mark, and even a bit of purple blooming on her temple.

How was she going to explain that one without giving Draco the right to beat Ron into a pulp?

Jackson curled onto his stomach, pulling his thumb into his mouth. Grace appeared next to Hermione, having never left her side since they entered the grand house.

"Mama, I don't like it here," Grace whispered, wrapping her arms about Hermione's hips, pressing her body into her mothers.

"Why, what's wrong?" Hermione replied, disentangling Grace's arms and kneeling before her. Grace was looking at the floor, avoiding Hermione's eye. She shrugged her shoulders indecisively and fiddling her thumbs together.

"Mama, I took it," Finally Grace looked up at Hermione, who narrowed her eyes in confusion.

Hermione smoothed her hands over Grace's hair, running her fingers through the long, blond strands. "What did you take, Gracie?"

Grace didn't answer. Instead she reached down the front of her shirt and pulled out a worn photograph, the same one that had gotten Hermione into this predicament in the first place. Hermione took the picture. At first she felt angry, fuming mad really, that Grace had gone through her things, even had the gall to search through her room to have even found it in the first place.

"How did you find out about him?" Hermione finally asked, her anger dissipating, but only slightly.

"I'm not stupid and you know what, I have eyes."

"I didn't ask for you to talk to me like that, Grace Sara-Beth, I only asked a question," Hermione admonished, crumpling the picture in her hand without conscious thought. Draco walked through the door at that moment, ignored by both mother and daughter. He leaned against the door jam, watching the interaction with a small smirk on his face.

"Well, it's not like I'd never known in the long run!" Grace yelled, shoving away from Hermione and placing her hands on her hips. "How about the way I didn't look like any of those people! Or maybe how Dad always looked at me with such contempt! I didn't look like I even belonged! So I wanted answers and I found one."

"You could have asked instead of going through my things, Grace," Hermione stated, thrusting the picture in her hand out as proof. "I would have told you!"

"You should have told me from the very beginning!" Grace screamed.

"Oi, don't yell at your mother!" Draco spoke up, standing straight and taking another step into the room. Hermione turned wearily towards him, her face drawn into a look of defeat. Grace turned with her mother, but her face was drawn into a look of pure childish rage.

"Don't tell me what to do! It's not like _you've_ ever had the right to boss me about like you're my dad!"

Jackson chose that moment to wake up screaming, only adding to the noise. Draco, who was so unused to hearing anything other than house elves preparing meals and Hermione when she came to visit, winced at the sound and it took all of his self control to not run from the room to the other side of the house, where he was sure that even then he wouldn't be able to escape the barrage of noise coming from Hermione and her children.

"Draco," Hermione whispered. He didn't hear her, but saw her lips form his name and knew that he had indeed done the wrong thing. Apparently, his daughter was more like him and the Malfoy family then he had previously realized.

Jackson continued to scream and wail as Hermione grabbed Grace's upper arm and dragged her and Draco from the room. She pushed them both into the hall and said in as tired a voice, either had ever heard, "Wait for me in the parlor."

Draco and Grace both scowled deeply and walked down the hall, the latter of whom stomped her feet petulantly against the carpet with each step. "Stop it," Draco said as they started to descend the stairs into the main hall.

"No," Grace said immaturely, stomping her feet, if possible, louder and faster as she pounded her way down the stairs.

"I said, _stop_, or I'll make you sleep outside," Draco said reaching for her and missing when Grace started to run away.

"Oh! I'm _so_ scared!" Grace said mockingly, taking refuge behind a table in the entrance hall.

"I'm serious Grace!"

"What the hell are you two doing?" Came Hermione's screeching voice from the top of the stairs. Draco and Grace both stopped in their childish banter and game of chase, looking sheepish as Hermione came down the stairs. Draco had seen the look on her face only once before, when he had disturbed her one too many times while she was trying to study. Grace on the other hand, had seen it many times whenever she or Ron had made a mistake and deliberately done the opposite of what she'd asked. To the both of them it only meant one thing: Run, and quickly.

Draco started to back away slowly, Grace following him. They both feared the retribution they were to receive from the irate Hermione. Hermione bore down on the both of them, her face drawn into a scowl, though as she neared them, she could see the tears swimming just behind her lids, waiting for the chance to spill.

"I'm _tired_ of the both of you!" Hermione said, her voice deathly quiet and cracking slightly. One tear fell; she wiped at it angrily with the back of her hand. She rounded on Grace who backed once more and right into Draco's legs. She pushed her body and far as she could into them, her eyes trained on her mother. "I'm tired of you acting like an immature brat! Now, either shape up and act your age, or be prepared to suffer the consequences. And _you!_"

If it was possible, Draco would have hidden behind Grace. But instead he settled for shrinking into himself and trying to make himself as small as possible. It never ceased to amaze him the way Hermione could make him feel like a child again, how she could reduce him to a pile of guilt if she so wanted.

"I'm tired of you acting like an immature child as well! Grow up, Draco! We're adults now! And just like you've always wanted," she pointed towards Grace, "_she's_ here. We're both here."

Tears were now pouring freely over her cheeks. Draco sighed and walked around Grace, who having lost her support nearly fell to the floor in a heap.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered as he came before her and placed his hands on her face, wiping away her tears with his thumb. He kissed her softly and then pulled her into his arms. She tentatively wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his shoulder.

Grace didn't know what or how to react. She had never seen her mother like this. She had never witnessed her mother willingly let someone hug her, or cradle her much in the way she was letting Draco do at this moment. Suddenly, the reasons as to why Hermione was never affectionate much and seemed to be saddened by Ron's subtle attempts at fondness were crystal clear. Grace watched her mother and father embrace, feeling like maybe, for once, things could turn out the way they were supposed to.

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**A/N: I'm not too big on the way the ending turned out. But here's your Draco! He'll be in the next chapters as well. I think I know how I want to end it, I'm just not sure on how to get there. **

**Reviews are much appreciated!**

**If there are any mistakes, just ignore them, or pretend they aren't there. I'm too lazy to go back and change them. :**


	3. The Wrath of a Weasley

"_I am coming to terms with the fact that loving someone requires a leap of faith, and that a soft landing is never a guarantee…" –Sarah Dessen_

Chapter Three: The Wrath of a Weasley

"You should have seen the way she screamed at me about some bloody photograph!" Ron fumed as he paced the carpet at Ginny and Harry's apartment. Harry was looking up at his best mate, his fingers steepled together in a very Dumbledore-like fashion. Ginny was currently in the kitchen, banging every pot and pan in Britain and maybe even France on the counter-tops. The constant ringing was starting to grate on Harry's nerves. "I don't even know what the hell she's talking about! Look, I mean, it was enough for me to even _allow_ her to keep the bloody box of things, than to actually look through them, like I actually _wanted_ to see what they were like together! I mean, she's **my** _wife_!"

Harry sighed, "But you got to understand that she was Malfoy's too, and that quite possibly she _was_ going to be his wife."

"Harry James Potter!" Ginny barked from the kitchen before appearing in the living room, a pot in one hand and a butcher knife in the other. "Don't you _dare_ try to take up for him! Don't you understand what that, _that whore_ has done to my brother? Take up for her again and I swear it'll be _you_ that'll be sleeping on the couch for a year with boils all over your skin!"

With that, Ginny turned on her heel, resuming her barrage of pots and pans in the kitchen. Both boys could hear her muttering angrily under her breath.

"Damn, she's scary," Harry whispered, sharing a look with Ron, who was so used to the sight of an angry Weasley woman that his sister's episode was nothing of significance.

"I don't know what to do about her, though, Harry," Ron said, falling back onto the couch and pouting deeply.

Harry sighed again, slapping his hands together. "Why not just forget about her? Divorce Hermione and move on! Find someone who loves you and marry her and be happy for the rest of your life!"

Ron scowled. "Don't be stupid, Harry, I'm not letting Hermione win that easily." He laughed manically, holding his head in his hand and looking across the room in a trance, his blue eyes clouded. "To think that she thought she could get rid of me so easily. This isn't going to be like the last time. If I'm going down, she's going down with me."

Ginny laughed from the kitchen and made a sound of agreement. Harry looked between his best friend and his wife who was silhouetted in the window that connected the living room and kitchen; the look on both of their faces was enough to make him feel extremely uncomfortable with what was going to happen to Hermione in the coming days.

**-x-**

"I don't see why you just don't file for divorce!" Draco exclaimed from where he sat in the parlor, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. "It's not like the either of you even _want_ to be married."

"I know that. Do you think I haven't thought of it?" Hermione replied. She stood with her back towards him, staring out on the dark lawns. "Ron would never give me up without a fight though. I'd have to go to court; I know he'd tell them that I cheated on him. I'd most likely loose Jackson…"

"We'll have sons of our own," Draco said dismissively, waving his free hand as though it would solve all of their problems.

Hermione didn't reply, but let the tears that had prickled at the back of her eyes for the better part of the day fall. She sighed and pressed her forehead against the cold window pane. "It's just not fair," She whispered softly. Steam billowed against the pane, blooming and then fading from the glass.

Draco didn't make any acknowledgement that he had heard what she had said. He stood from his seat and downed the contents of his glass, replacing it on the bar for a house elf to clean.

"Are you coming to bed?" Draco asked after a matter of time had passed silently between them.

"In a moment," Hermione replied, turning away from the window to look at him. He nodded his head slowly before turning and leaving the room.

How could she have been so stupid? She never should have married Ron. All along she'd known that Draco was alive, she just didn't have the will power to stand up to Ginny and Molly Weasley. Nor Ron, when it came down to it. The way he had looked the night he had proposed, so lost and sad, like he was expecting her to refuse him, but couldn't help himself and save whatever pride he could in not asking. The look of pure shock on his face when she'd said yes, and then promptly fell into his bed willingly and without even a hint at wanting to start a fight.

It was in those few desperate moments, that Hermione even remembered in the first place why Malfoy had been so appealing in the seventh year. He was the most talked about man in Hogwarts, the intrigue as to what he attracted in these women was enough to make even the strongest of girls weak at the knees. She thought of how stupid she had been in school, how she had never been any better than any of the girls she bad-mouthed with Harry and Ron. The ones who wound up pregnant and unmarried and basically screwed their lives up at that particular moment.

Her thoughts drifted to Grace and before she really knew what she was doing, she found herself standing outside Grace's bedroom door, her hand on the handle. The room was dark when Hermione opened the door and squeezed herself inside, trying to keep the door as closed as much as she could so as to not wake up her daughter. Not that she needed have worried.

"Mum?" Grace whispered through the darkness.

"You're awake," Hermione stated, walking more briskly across the great room and over to her daughter's bedside.

"Yeah," Grace replied. "_He _came in to say goodnight…"

"He's really not a bad guy, Gracie," Hermione whispered, sitting herself on the edge of Grace's bed and leaning over so that a shaft of moonlight illuminated her daughters face.

"I guess…" Grace said. "It's funny. I wanted to meet him the moment I saw the pictures. I wanted to know him as my dad… But then we get here, and the only thing I can think of doing is hiding from him… It's like I'm afraid of what he'll think of me. Like maybe he'll be ashamed."

Hermione chuckled slightly, ignoring the death glare that Grace gave her. It wasn't often that the child opened up about her feelings. If people were just going to laugh, then she may never do it again!

"I wish you could have seen how excited he was that he was going to be a father. He would talk to my stomach every night, he was so happy to think that there was someone out there who he had made and he could love," Hermione whispered.

"Why didn't you marry _him_ then?" Grace asked.

The smile that had been on Hermione's face disappeared in a flash. She sat straight on the bed, seemingly closed down from the rest of the world.

"He wasn't there."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione sighed and turned back to Grace. "I never saw him after the last day I was in Hogwarts, the day I had you, and your brother."

"My brother? Mum, I'm not retarded, I know that Jackson is a little too young to be my brother," Grace said, rolling her eyes.

"No, I meant your twin. He died during birth."

Grace was stunned into silence. So that was what Ron had meant when he mentioned her brother. It also explained a sort of feeling she got at times, like there was a whole part of her missing. Plus, it was strange to think that there had been someone there who had once looked like her.

"Mama, what's going to happen?" Grace breathed, rolling over onto her side and pressing her warm body against her mother. Hermione absently placed a hand on her head and tucked her silvery blond hair behind her ear, looking down at her daughter's face.

"I don't know," Hermione replied honestly. "I don't know what's going to happen."

"_He_ won't leave us… Will he?"

"No, Grace," Hermione said, leaning over and placing a kiss on Grace's forehead. "He's wanted this for so long. I think he have to be forced to ever leave."

**-x-**

Hermione came to bed after having kissed and tucked in Grace and went and checked on Jackson, who was sleeping deeply in a crib they had transfigured from one of the guest bedrooms. Draco's bedroom was completely dark; she had to hold her hands before her and walk the pace of a snail to ensure that she didn't walk into any of the furniture or stub her toes on any sharp corners.

When she finally made it to the bed, she found Draco sprawled across the mattress, lying in the very center, either way, she'd have to wake him to get into bed. It was an action he had continued doing from school. Sighing, Hermione stripped out of her robes and changed into the nightgown waiting for her on the side of the bed.

She shoved Draco roughly, causing him to snort as he woke and nearly roll of off the bed. "Mione… why would you do that?"

"The same reason you were lying across the entire bed," Hermione replied, scooting underneath the covers. Draco immediately rolled next to her, encasing her in his arms.

"Was it so you could kiss me?" Draco whispered, placing a kiss on Hermione's temple.

Hermione sighed and rolled so that her back was pressed against his chest. She felt his sigh as much as she heard it. "Now, is not the time."

Draco fidgeted. He sighed three more times and attempted to cup Hermione's breasts in his hands only to receive a slap to his thigh, the only place Hermione could really, properly reach from the way they were lying.

"Hermione…" Draco whined.

"Merlin, I said no, not now."

"Why though?"

"Are you serious?" Hermione asked indignantly. She pulled out o his embrace and turned to look at him. "Are you seriously asking _why_ I don't want to have sex right now?"

Hermione huffed something that greatly resembled "men" under her breath as she stood from the bed, yanked her pillow up and stormed from the room. She slammed the door behind her, causing a couple of portraits in the hall to wake and begin screaming about the filthy, mudblood scum that had overrun the household of their ancestors. He faintly heard Hermione's voice adding to the din of his family before another door slammed and the portraits quieted to a general murmur, a few raising their voices to add a "Filthy Mudbloods! Overrunning the noble house of my fathers!", before the hall quieted completely and Draco was left to ponder just what exactly he had done that was so wrong.

**-x-**

Grace began to become used to the daily pattern that revolved throughout the house of Malfoy. Wake up at eight, bathe and dress with assistance from the house elves, though her mother had strictly forbidden her to even accept the help of a house elf without offering to help or pay. And Grace had truly listened until she realized that she was offending the house elves nature and settled for just telling her mother that she was doing as she had asked. After breakfast there was a break of one hour until lessons started with a private tutor who taught French and Spanish, along with proper Pureblooded, aristocratic manners till lunch. Lunch was often a quiet affair with Draco locked up in his office, her mother juggling with Jackson who still cried for his father and couldn't settle down until he fell into a fitful sleep at night, and Grace sitting by herself at a grand banquet table with a stiff butler standing guard by her chair, waiting to hand her a goblet filled with crisp, cool water that never wavered from it's temperature.

At night she skipped the Happy Family Charade that was more commonly known as Dinner to eat in the kitchens with the house elves and then slipped away to her room. She waited every night for a couple of hours until she heard her mother come wandering into her room, muttering under her breath about "jerks" and "men".

The morning after consisted of an empty bed and hushed voices down the hall arguing about things she couldn't understand, both because of her age and because of the quietness of their voices. It wasn't until their third week in confinement, as Grace fondly called it, that she learned the reasons of their nightly arguments.

"I think he should see Jackson at least," Hermione said on one of her rare visits to the breakfast table. Draco, also a rare sight, sat at the head, and appeared to be staunchly ignoring Hermione's blatant attempts at conversation. "Would you at least look at me, you bastard?"

Grace watched her parents from under her lashes, moving her fork around her plate as though she were interested in the bacon and eggs growing cold on the pristine china.

Draco looked up, working a bite of bacon between his teeth. His grey eyes looked stormy and his hands clenched a fork and knife in fists. "What? What do you want me to say? That I agree? OK, I agree, parade yourself back to him, but this time if you don't come back, don't expect me to be waiting."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, throwing down her fork. Jackson watched, his hands covered in maple syrup. "If memory serves right, _you're_ the one who never even came to the hospital to even see your daughter or son, granted the fact that he was stillborn! _You're_ the one who _STILL_ haven't told me just where the bloody hell you were!!"

Hermione stood from the table and wadded her napkin into a ball and threw it at Draco's head. "Grow the fuck up and quit acting like the world is against you! What the hell has really happened to you?!"

Draco stood up and grabbed her upper arm, dragging Hermione across the hall towards the wall.

"If memory serves right, _dear_, you're the one who went and got married, _DESPITE_ the fact that you _said_ you knew that I was still alive," Draco said.

Grace pondered the point of walking across the room when they could still hear everything they were saying.

Hermione yanked her arm away. "And yet, you took five BLOODY years to reappear and then make me into some sort of hussy!"

"No, dear," Draco said silkily, crossing his arms over his chest and raising to his full height, nearly a head over Hermione, "You did that one yourself."

Hermione slapped Draco before Grace could really search her mental dictionary for the definition of 'hussy' and thus know what was going on. But once she had, she felt like running over to her father and kicking his shins repeatedly, and only held back because of her mother's feral expression.

Hermione then went crazy in a sense, slapping every bit of Draco she could reach.

"Stop it, woman!" Draco cried, holding his arms up to block his face. "Stop!"

"You deserve it!" Hermione screamed, slapping his stomach and chest.

Draco reached out and grabbed Hermione's arms. "I'm sorry, Hermione, OK? I'm sorry. Can you blame me for being scared of you running to another man?"

"What the hell are you on about?" Hermione asked, her hands waving as best they could from still being held captive in Draco's hands. "I'm here aren't I? Your daughter is here, and so is my son! You know, I understand being jealous, but even if you had some kids from your past, I wouldn't hold it over your head like a bloody piñata!"

"A pin-what?" Draco waved his arms as he spoke, taking Hermione with him. She scowled and pulled at her arms. Grace and Jackson went back to their food, uninterested in the turn of events.

"If you come with me, will it make you happier?" Hermione finally asked, breathing hard and resisting the urge to knee Draco in the groin to get him to release her.

Draco grimaced and then sighed. "I guess…"

"Good, now let me go."

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**A/N: Up next is the awkward meeting of the Hermione and crew and Ron! **


	4. An Awkward Moment

_All you could do was take on as much weight as you can bear. And if you're lucky, there's someone close enough by to shoulder the rest… _Just Listen - Sarah Dessen

Chapter Four: An Awkward Moment

Hermione was nervous. Her heart was pulsating spasmodically in her chest and Draco's sweaty hand grasping her own wasn't helping. They were meeting Ron and Harry at the Ministry of Magic, Draco having had convinced Hermione that she needed to get a divorce and quit caring what others thought of her. Besides, her true friends would stick with her no matter what. At least that was what she hoped.

Jackson was sleeping in Hermione's arms, his head lolling on her shoulder, drool soaking into her thick jacket. Grace was clutching Draco's other hand, keeping close to his legs as they shoved their way through the thick crowds of wizards and witches alike at the entrance to the Ministry.

Gripping Draco's hand tighter, Hermione followed the crowd into a queue, which branched off man and woman. They traded children, Draco successfully hiding his displeasure at holding Jackson by masking his expressions as emotionless and turning his face away from Hermione and Grace who were now walking into a grungy bathroom, waiting for the next cubicle to open up.

"Is this the way in?" Grace asked as they walked into a stall together and made to stand in the toilet together. Grace scowled and looked down at her shoes in the murky water. "Disgusting."

"Well, we're coming in on Grandpa Weasley's card, as his guests," Hermione replied taking a hold on Grace's shoulder and reaching up to grab the flusher. A second later they were sucked into the toilet and a second after that they were standing in a hall in the Ministry. Draco and Jackson were waiting for them, the latter of the two in silent tears. Jackson immediately reached for his mother and Grace silently went to her father, taking his hand as she had been instructed before they left the manor.

As they walked through the Ministry, fireplaces illuminating and spitting out persons in various colored robes. Some pointed and stared at the oddly colored family moving within their midst, but most didn't even bat an eyelash, so used to seeing persons traveling in mismatched packs.

They followed the surge of the crowd, the visitors, who were queuing at a security station to check in. Hermione looked around her at the others, searching for Ron and Harry.

How was she supposed to act around Ron? Like she was sorry? She was tired of being sorry, of always being sorry and feeling guilty for the way she felt, as if she could really help that. But now, now she was going to do more things for herself, thus the reason they were even meeting her today. She had had Draco contact his family lawyer and drew up a set of divorce papers, sending them by Express Owl to Ron the day after. It took nearly three weeks for his reply, but finally, his lawyer had sent back a response, asking that they meet in person on the specified date. And two days after she agreed to the meeting, Harry had sent her an owl, sounding frantic and as though he were only saying half of what he truly wanted to.

Hermione understood his predicament. Had always known that no matter what happened between her and Ron, Draco or not, that he would always be caught in the middle, and irrevocably siding with the Weasley's, to please his wife and best friend. She knew that in his heart, he understood where she was coming from. In a way, he'd gone through the same thing with Ginny, just never dated, nor married, someone else to help ease the pain as Hermione had done.

No, she wouldn't be sorry. She'd be cordial, of course, no matter what Draco did and would even let Ron have all the things they'd acquired while married if it helped the process go faster. She just wanted to pretend as though this had never happened. She wanted to marry Draco and be happier in her life, instead of moping about feeling like a great adulterer and hussy that she was sure the public would think when the news got out that the Golden Trio's Leading Couple were divorcing. She couldn't think of that yet. No, it was just too fresh in her heart.

"Please state your name and purpose," A stern looking witch said without looking up, a quill posed over a sheet of parchment.

"Draco Malfoy, Grace Weasley, Hermione Weasley and Jackson Weasley," Draco spoke, seeing the dazed look on Hermione's face. "Meeting with the Head of Marriage Dissolution."

There was a slight hush over the people closest to them and then, like a hive of bees, a buzzing of whispers erupted behind them at the names stated and then rising in volume when they heard their business. Hermione scowled at the woman and man closest to them, an older couple, who were stating, and none so quietly, that divorce was for brazen women and men with no morals. Draco merely let it roll off his shoulders, ushering Grace and Hermione away before him and then leading them down the hall to the lifts.

They filed into an already crowded lift, squeezing to the side of the cramped space, Draco lifting Grace into his arms to help make more room. Grace stared at the ceiling of the lift, watching as at least ten paper airplanes zoomed crazily about the top most space. She reached out to try and grab one, only to snatch her hand back with a deep paper cut and a paper airplane that kept swiping at her until someone else in the lift immobilized it and they began to move.

Draco healed the paper cut and wiped away the lone tear that fell down Grace's cheek. She turned her head quickly, looking away from her family. Draco sighed. She really was his child.

Hermione began to nervously bounce Jackson on her hip, smoothing a shaking hand through her wild tendrils of hair. She briefly held a gaze with Draco but turned away again before he could read too much in her eyes. She didn't need him to know everything she was feeling; if she'd wanted that, she'd tear down the mental brick wall she had in her head so he could just read her thoughts.

"Hey," Draco said, nudging Hermione and adjusting Grace's weight in his arms. She squirmed in response and hissed in displeasure when she was pressed slightly against one of the shabbier dressed men in the lift close to them. Hermione looked up at Draco, who was turning uncomfortably to placate Grace's squirming and yet still keep himself comfortable. "Don't worry about it. It'll all turn out all right."

Hermione nodded her head, not truly believing what he was saying. The lift stopped and a woman's voice announced the floor, "Department of Mysteries."

Three men exited the lift, their robes a deep shade of midnight blue and a large U on the back of their robes.

"What are they?" Grace asked watching the men as they disappeared into the dark murkiness in the corridor.

"Unspeakables," Hermione supplied, as Draco set Grace down in the now more spacious lift and took one of the handles hanging suspended from the ceiling.

"What do they do?"

"No one knows. That's why they're called Unspeakables; they cannot talk about what they do."

The lift began to move again and Grace had to grab hold of Draco's pant leg to keep from toppling over. The paper airplane messages buzzed around the top of the lift, sounding more and more like mosquitoes and making Hermione feel just a little bit murderous.

"Department of Magical Transportation," the woman's voice announced as the lift doors rolled open and three men and one woman exited, four of the paper messages zoomed out and into the hall where Grace saw one nosedive and hit a man on the top of the head.

The doors closed again and the Weasleys and Malfoy spread out more comfortably, sticking towards the back where they were out of the way of the only other two ministry workers in the lift.

The lift was deathly quiet as it began to move again before coming to a stop once more and the woman's voice announced: "Department of International Magical Cooperation: International Magical Trading Standards Body, International Magical Office of Law and International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats."

"Here we are, come on, Grace," Draco announced, taking Grace's hand and leading them out and into the busy corridor. He pushed his way over to the wall with a sign pointing out different locations. Hermione tried to follow, shoving against one toad-like woman who greatly resembled Dolores Umbridge. "Hermione! Go that way!"

Hermione nodded and followed Draco's white blond head of hair, shoving it felt, against the crowd and bumping repeatedly into people who seemed to speak every language but English. She finally came to the wall, where it was easier to navigate the hall. She came upon another corridor where Draco and Grace were waiting for her. Once they were all reunited they turned down the hall and walked more freely to the office of Gregory Gumboil, son of Alfred Gumboil from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. He was also a close friend to the Arthur Weasley, and thus had attempted to sway his son to not take Hermione as his client, but business was business to Gregory Gumboil, and he didn't give a damn either way.

"Ready?" Draco asked as they stopped before Gregory Gumboil's door, his golden name plate gleaming in the soft light of the hall.

"Yeah, as ready as I'll ever be," Hermione replied, shifting Jackson's weight on her hip. Draco opened the door and allowed Hermione and Grace to enter first, following into the office as Gregory stood from his seat behind the metal desk his hand extended to shake Hermione's and then Draco's. Harry and Ron sat stoically in metal chairs on one side of the room.

Harry smiled slightly, raising one side of his mouth, the side facing away from Ron, his green eyes twinkling at Hermione, happy to see her no matter the circumstances. Draco scowled at Ron, but looked indifferently at Harry, who did the same, their own weird way of a greeting.

"Well, now that both parties are present, we may begin the deliberations," Gregory said, making eye contact with a squirrelly looking man standing just off to the side, unnoticed by Hermione and Draco. His pointed face was dripping in sweat and a bald patch the size of Texas was shinning like a light bulb on Christmas morning starting at the back of his head and growing up the front of his skull, ending at his eyebrows, making his forehead look monstrously distorted. "Would you like to start Gil, or should I?"

Gil cleared his throat, covering his lipless mouth with his right hand as he erupted into a coughing fit. Ron scowled deeply at the man beside him, representing his case. How was it that he was always the one stuck with the inadequate?

"Well, I would like to begin with the fact that Mr. Weasley does not wish to divorce his wife and would also like to say that this meeting should be further regarded as pointless as he has no regards to letting his wife go," Gil stated in a wheezy voice. Grace looked at him disgustedly.

"In that case, Mr. Barker, I would like to bring up the fact that Mrs. Weasley _does_ want to divorce and that both parties are not in agreement."

Gil Barker smirked and cleared his throat again. Everyone else in the room grimaced as he did so. "Yes, well in concordant with the marriage that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley partook in, the male is in full charge of the ways of his marriage and wife."

"Not that he's done _that_ very well," Draco mumbled under his breath. Hermione hit his leg in warning as Gregory turned to him and said, "Mr. Malfoy, if you cannot refrain from speaking, I will have to ask you to remove yourself from this room."

Draco pouted and sank lower in his chair, Grace balancing precariously on his knees.

"Now, I do not know whether or not you are aware of this Gil, but the Weasley's had a muggle ceremony, and thus are not within the rights of a Wizarding Marriage Law, and cannot precede without some sort of agreement."

They continued to argue for the next several minutes, leaving the divorcees out of the conversation with their Lawyer Talk and use of words that even Hermione didn't know the full meaning to.

Finally, they stopped for breath and Gil Barker began to state Ron's reasons, which were followed by Hermione's. Grace and Jackson both fell asleep in Draco and Hermione's laps, Jackson placated by the sight of his father.

"We will break for now and meet again next week, on Tuesday, same time, in the conference room down the hall," Gregory said after a while, Hermione jerking out of her stupor as did Harry, both of whom woke up their companions, Ron jerking awake with a snort that didn't go unnoticed by the other occupants in the stifling room.

Draco stood beside Hermione as she gathered her things together, as Ron visited with Jackson.

"You know, maybe Jackson should just stay with me," Ron said, looking at Hermione as though Grace and Draco were not there.

"Sure," Draco said immediately, shrinking back when Hermione sent him a death glare.

"Ron, you don't even know how to take care of yourself, let alone a child!" Hermione said, holding out her arms to take Jackson. The child turned away, burying his face in Ron's shoulder.

Gil and Gregory stood close by, observing closely at the interaction between Hermione and Ron.

"He doesn't even want to go with you!"

"You don't even know how to turn on the kettle, let alone make sure that Jackson eats food that he can chew! You can't give a baby meat and potatoes, Ronald! What are you going to do? Shove him on your mother and come and visit when you want to see him!"

"She has a point, Ron."

"Stay out of it, Harry! Well, then, dear wife, tell him what to do and I'll do it."

Hermione huffed indignantly. "I shouldn't have to! You should know! You're his father! You were there when he was a baby! Hell, you were there when Grace was a baby, it's not like you're a newbie at all of this!"

Ron sighed and rocked Jackson. "A boy needs his father."

"Yes, and a boy also needs love and care, not brotherly companion!" Hermione retaliated. Harry and Draco shared a look that spoke a million words. Both were siding with Hermione, but didn't want to get into the middle of their argument.

"I can be a father!"

"You could barely be a husband!"

"Excuse me?"

Ron was glaring daggers at Hermione and looked ready to draw his wand and avada her right there on the spot. Harry, always the mediator, stepped between them, his hands raised in peace. "Alright, now, let's discuss this like adults."

Ron turned his glare on Harry who simply returned it. "Hermione, why don't you let Ron take Jackson-"

"What?!"

"On the promise that he will stay with Molly so that she can help him with everything," Harry said, raising his voice over Hermione's. "I promise to help, along with Ginny."

Hermione still looked skeptical. But when she looked at Jackson, at how much he loved his father and how peaceful he was now that he was in Ron's arms, she couldn't help but nod her head OK and affirm her assent when asked by the lawyers. She agreed to packing his and meeting Harry in one and half hours in Florean Fortesque's Ice Cream Parlour.

The hardest thing in her life was walking out of the office, the smirk on Ron's face burned onto her irises and leaving her baby in his arms.

**-x-**

"I'm scared."

"About what?"

"He can't take care of a baby."

Draco sighed and rolled over in the bed so that he was facing Hermione, both of them on their sides. She had her arms curled up close to her chest, her hands tucked neatly below her chin. Her eyes were misty and dark in the moonlight, her face pale. He took one of her hands in his own, coming close to her so that his legs were pressed beneath her own.

"Don't worry about it so much, Mione."

"How can I not? He may not mean a lot to you, but he's still a part of me," Hermione whispered as tears began to gather in her eyes. "I mean, it's not as though he can even feed himself when he's alone. Did you know, that one night I came home late from work and found Grace, an infant, lying on the couch while he was in the shower? She hadn't been fed, didn't have a clean diaper on and was naked, besides her diaper, of course!"

Draco swallowed the anger that bubbled up into his throat and closed his eyes tightly before opening them and saying, as calmly as he could. "He's with his mother. She'll take care of him. And don't tell me you actually left _my_ daughter alone with that man."

Hermione ignored him, rolling onto her back as tears leaked from her eyes, down her temples and into her hair. "Why is this happening?"

"I don't know, love. I don't know why a lot of things happen."

They were interrupted by the door creaking open. Both of them looked up at Grace, her blond hair shimmering. "Mama?"

"What's wrong, baby?" Hermione asked, sitting up on her elbows so she could see her better. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Grace didn't answer. She closed the door quietly before running full speed at the bed, jumping onto the mattress and cuddling between her parents.

"Hey," Draco said, pushing her shoulder softly. "What's wrong?"

"Leave me alone," Grace mumbled, her face buried in the pillow.

Hermione wiped at the drying tears on her face and gave Draco a look, lying down again on the plush mattress. Draco settled down as well, pulling the covers up over his daughter and closing his eyes pretending to fall fast asleep.

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**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. But common, those of y'all who just read and then skip on to the next chapter… REVIEW!!! I know, I do it sometimes to! But it helps to update knowing that people want to read what's coming up next.**


	5. A Space in Time Explained

**A/N: Thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed! I didn't have time to reply to all of them, but did my best: Please keep 'em coming! Also, just so everyone knows, I hate divorce. Despise it. Wish it had never even been created. My parents divorced when I was five, and it totally destroyed my world, so it's not like I'm totally rooting for the divorce thing in this story. It just sometimes, has to happen, and for this story, this is one of those times. Sorry if I've made someone mad, caused someone to relive horrific memories that suck, or somehow just offended someone in a way I can't think of right now. Truly, I apologize. **

There is never a time or place for True Love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment… The Truth About Forever – Sarah Dessen

Chapter Five: A Space in Time, Explained

Draco Malfoy knew, deep in his stone cold heart, that the moment he had traipsed into Hermione Granger's room at Hogwarts and tumbled unceremoniously into her bed, that he would forever be wrapped around her little finger. She was everything he needed in a woman. She was independent, she didn't follow him like a lost puppy and knew the correct way to argue: By actually speaking her mind and not bending into submission. After all, where was the fun in always having power and no argument, no test of knowledge?

Even then, when he hadn't loved her, or barely, unrecognizably had, he knew that for the rest of his life, Hermione Granger would always be his. The way she had looked up at him after he had made love to her that first time, so satisfied, the way she didn't cling to him the next day like all the others did. She plainly told him that she didn't _need_ him. She _wanted_ him. And that was what attracted him to her.

It only added to the attraction that she did, inevitably, fall in love with him, as did he, that she became pregnant with his children and didn't run away and terminate them, showing him in her own way that she wanted to be with him, always a part of him, and that she sacrificed her love of school, her dire need of knowledge, just so that she could have his babies… It was something he had never thought a person would do for him. With or without love. This ultimate show of devotion, of adoration.

Then how was he to tell her where he had been all this time? That he had been living in the lap of luxury, had even been with three French girls that were great in the bedroom and gone the next morning before he woke up with a wad of cash and no attachment. How was he to tell her that?

How was he to say the truth? That he had gone to Europe, to Egypt and Africa, to India and the Americas, seen the world and experienced things, alone; always alone. That he didn't want to be anywhere near her. That when Professor Snape had pulled him by the collar down the hall and into the dungeons before shoving him into his office, yelled his throat hoarse and even slapped Draco quite roughly across the check in the attempt to smack some sense into him, but really had only instilled something so horrific, he hated the man for it. For giving him this idiotic reason… If it could even be called that.

So how was he to tell her that he had run away? That he had been so scared? Scared of retribution, of his family, of the Dark Lord… Scared of being a father. Of the responsibility…

He had made it into a big deal; made it seem as though he had been _forced_ away, that he had left out of his will. So no, Draco couldn't tell her that he was scared. What the hell would she think of him then? She'd be horribly angry. She'd most likely leave him, and take his daughter away. She'd go back to Weasley and their son and pretend as though nothing had ever happened. She'd never accept that he'd lived a life with prostitutes and heavy drinking, that he'd basically pissed himself drunk every night, nearly been with more than three women, but had been too shit-faced to even begin performing. Wouldn't she?

It wasn't as though he were particularly proud of those Lost Years… He just wished they would disappear into oblivion and never resurface.

The risk was what kept him from spilling his guts to her every night they lay in bed together. She deserved an answer after all. Anyone would deserve an explanation. But he couldn't. Not now, when he finally had her, in his home, playing his wife, and even entertaining the thought with him of actually marrying him when this whole ordeal was over and having more children, sons and daughters galore to fill the drab house of Malfoy.

No, he wouldn't, couldn't tell her. Not now. He'd tell her when she was truly his, his wife, when she couldn't get away. When she, hopefully, wouldn't _want_ to get away.

So every time Draco Malfoy opened his mouth the need to tell her became more and more imminent and just that more hard. But he had been trained, for years of his childhood, to be able to keep secrets, deadly or not, and act as though nothing were out of the norm. He was able to swallow the words, his words of cowardice, and tell her something different, masking his nervousness with an I Love You, or something equally endearing and rare. Hermione Granger knew he wasn't one for over affection.

He paid extra attention to Grace, even went down to the Ministry and had her name changed to Malfoy, with her and Hermione's permission of course, and gave her everything money could buy, trying to make up for lost time. Anything to let his baby girl know that he loved her, that his not being there was not really her fault, even if she had been part of the reason.

There was no way he would let it out that his daughter, his pride and joy, was part of the reason Draco Malfoy had been _afraid_. That wasn't something a child needed to know. It wasn't something a child needed to carry around on her shoulders, always feeling its weight bearing her down.

No, Grace Sara-Beth Malfoy would never know the real reason her father wasn't there.

**-x-**

Hermione was a nervous wreck; she hated this. This whole _divorce_… thing… She just wished she hadn't married Ron Weasley. Sure, she'd never trade Jackson for ANYTHING, but this wasn't worth it. This totally wasn't worth eight years of pure, unadulterated torture. Of wishing every night before she went to bed that she'd wake up from some nightmare and everything would be righted, would be the way they were supposed to be the day she'd first let him touch her, kiss her, love her.

No, if she were to go back in time and have the chance to redo some things, she'd without a doubt had never even bat a second eyelash when Ron Weasley bended down on one knee and professed his undying need to be with her _forever_.

Forever.

What a load of crock. There's only one person in the world she would even associate the word _forever_ with and it definitely wasn't with someone tall, gangly and with a head of red hair. No, her heart had to belong to someone much less talkative, yet someone just that much more loyal.

She didn't know what he had been doing while he was gone. She wasn't really even sure if she wanted to know, to be honest. The only thing worse than knowing he had been afraid, was that he had cheated on her. Repeatedly would be devastating.

No, Hermione didn't want to know. She could deal with _wondering_, constantly _wondering_ where he had been, what he had been doing, and with whom. What she couldn't handle was _knowing_, deeply and truly, knowing every dirty detail. She didn't want to see him like that.

It was easy for her to just think that he had been on extended holiday, presumed dead when he hadn't returned home and then, when the time was right, she'd moved on, married someone, who wasn't _exactly_ what we'd wanted, but someone who loved us, and cherished us, and for one small, miniscule moment, made us believe that we weren't that disposable.

Like she'd felt that week in the hospital, cradling her baby daughter, and mourning her stillborn son, who'd she'd felt move, and kick, in her womb. Entertained the thought that she had been living in a dream, a wonderful dream, in which the repercussions were much more horrible than anticipated.

**-x-**

"Where did we leave off last meeting?" Gregory asked, mumbling more to himself then the people in the room with him, as he shuffled stacks of paper into order, searching for the divorce file on Hermione and Ron. "I believe we agreed last time to allow Mr. Weasley temporary custody of Jackson James Weasley… Are we still in concordance with this?"

Hermione vaguely felt herself nod; she was too preoccupied with the death glare Ginny was sending her way and the burning of her hand encased in Draco's was _not_ helping the situation, of that she was indeed positive. She had always known that Ginny wouldn't be sympathetic. She was surprised Harry had even lasted so long, what with him being married to her and listening constantly to the both of them, Ron and Ginny, insult her and what little honor she had left.

Gregory and Gil once again launched into a legal battle, both having spoken with their clients the night before with the stipulations of what each wanted.

"Well, Mr. Guttenberg, Mrs. Weasley has only one request, that she have sole custody of their son, Jackson James, and a box, which sits on her vanity table," Gregory said, his hands folded together on top of his desk.

Gil cleared his throat. Everyone in the room flinched. "Well, seeing as to how Mrs. Weasley has committed an act of adultery, it shows that she is more caring towards her own life, than that of her children, clearly showing that Mr. Weasley would be more responsible with Jackson."

"He can't even tie his own shoelaces without help, let alone watch a baby!" Hermione said vehemently, breaking contact with Ginny's glare. "You let Jackson live with him and I swear three hours after custody is given, my son will be living with his grandmother!"

"Mrs. Weasley, I'm going to have to ask that you keep your voice at a more appropriate level," Gregory whispered, leaning towards Hermione. Draco had Grace perched on his knees, the both of them playing a game that Grace had designed while they were in the lifts. It seemed to be a combination of I Spy and Truth or Dare.

"I would appreciate it if you would both start addressing me by my maiden name," Hermione said, none to quietly either. She shot a look at Ron who was pouting childishly in his chair, staring contemptuously at her.

"Alright then, Ms…?"

"Granger."

"Oh, yes, Granger, of course."

"Mr. Weasley only asks for Jackson, that's the only thing he wants from this marriage."

"Yes, well, unfortunately, so does Ms. Granger, so we will have to go to court and have a judge cover this part of the dispute," Gregory said. He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb, sighing heavily. "Is there anything Mr. Weasley has against Ms. Granger receiving her jewelry box?"

"No," Ron said. He glared at Hermione and then at Draco who was still ignoring the occupants in the room, playing with Grace who kept changing the rules to suit her chances of winning. "I don't want any of her things."

"In that case, Ms. Granger, you are asked to please remove everything of your possession from the house you and Mr. Weasley own under strict supervision of myself and Mr. Guttenberg. The house, in which the both of you have reside is now up for question. If we can come to an agreement, then the need to have a judge decide this will not be necessary."

"I don't want it," Hermione immediately said. "I have another place to live. I don't want that house. He can have it."

"Well, I don't want it. No telling what parts of the house you brought _him_ in for your little escapades," Ron brashly stated, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Jackson, who had been sleeping in his aunts lap the whole time, blearily opened his eyes and yawned broadly, extending his little hands for his mother when he saw her.

Hermione stood and reached for him, but Ginny turned so that Jackson was out of his reach. The baby looked confused at first as to why he was now facing the wall, his mind still befuddled with sleep, but then he started to cry softly, turning as best he could, reaching out for Hermione.

"Don't touch him, whore," Ginny whispered vehemently. "He's ours."

"No, he's mine," Hermione replied, grabbing Jackson and all but wrenching him from Ginny's grasp. Jackson stopped crying the moment he was in his mother's arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Even Draco couldn't deny that both looked instantly comforted by the others presence. "Stay away from him."

"Mrs. Potter, if you keep Ms. Granger's son from her again, you'll be arrested for attempted kidnapping."

"What?!" Ginny yelled standing to her feet. Hermione returned to her seat, where Jackson reached out for Grace and kissed her sloppily on the cheek, leaving a ring of drool on her face. "Uh!" Grace said, wiping the back of her hand across her face, before inconspicuously cleaning her hand on the back of Gil Guttenberg's jacket which was hanging on the back of the chair before her. Draco chuckled under his breath and shared a smirk with Grace when she turned to look at him.

Hermione was too tired and agitated to tell Grace off for her display of blatant disrespect and instead cuddled her son close to her, breathing in deeply his distinct baby scent. Baby powder and something that closely resembled baby formula and a hint underlying of the Weasley household; fresh baked goods and dried flowers: It was enough to send Hermione back into a nostalgic memory of when things were different, when times seemed almost easier.

"You're going to arrest me for kidnapping?! What the bloody hell is wrong with you! I wasn't going anywhere!" Ginny screamed at Gregory. He must have been used to this as he didn't even bat an eyelash at the fearsome Ginny Potter.

"You were keeping Ms. Granger's son from her. Technically, you were withholding her of her own flesh and blood, and thus, in a sense, kidnapping her son."

"I think you're full of shit!"

All was deathly quiet. Gregory simply sighed once again and rubbed his temples in tight circles. "Yes, well. Mr. Weasley, if you do not want the house, then we will also have to go to court for this dispute as well. I'll talk to the head of the Wizengamot and see when the date we will meet in court. I'll owl the both of you. For the time being, Jackson will be staying with Ms. Granger until further orders are given."

Ron wisely choose to stay silent while his sister blew up in a fit of rage. Hermione stood and left the room closely followed by Grace and Draco, the former who was arguing as to why it was unfair that he won. By the time they made it to the lifts, Grace was pouting and Ron and Ginny were walking towards them, both with identical masks of hate.

Jackson clapped his hands madly when Ron stepped onto the lift and Hermione shrank back on the other side of Draco, her hand pulling Grace along with her. The child protested, adding tension in the tiny room as Ginny followed closely behind, stating that just because her mother was afraid of them, didn't mean that she was. Draco shushed his daughter with a silent glare and kept an eye on the brother and sister, the latter of whom was giving Hermione an Eat-Shit-And-Die look that didn't cease until they made it to the main floor and went their separate ways.

"Christ, they're annoying," Draco mumbled under his breath, shuffling his family towards the exits. Hermione took Grace's hand and tightened her hold on Jackson, before stepping into one of the fireplaces and stating her destination. The last thing she saw was Ron come from behind an elderly couple, knocking them to the side and punch Draco squarely on the jaw before the flames licked up her body and whisked her away.

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**A/N: This week has been an interesting week, which is why I haven't updated till today. First, my birthday was an interestingly, awkward affair what with my divorced parents ignoring one another and causing tension thicker than lead. Second, the day before yesterday, my mom and I were walking through the back of our ranch with our dogs and were chased by a rabid skunk. I'm dead serious. I was thrown off my horse and have the bruises to prove it, and landed on a cactus. And last, but definitely not least, my ex came around and totally freaked me out with how much he's changed. **

**I couldn't make this up, I swear. **

**So please, review. And I know that there's probably some mistake somewhere in there, but just ignore them. It might not be a great chapter, but I wanted to update despite my horrible week, so I really do apologize for that:**

**--I've Got Another Confession to Make--**


	6. Never Forgiven

**A/N: I know everyone wants Draco Malfoy to have a better reason to have been gone for all that time. But I don't see him as saving people and enduring torture and pain for something he's **_**scared**_** of. Ex: He's scared to kill Dumbledore; he can't do it and eventually ends up running away with Snape. Albeit he was running for his life, but his fear is what brings him there. So, I can't see Draco doing anything other than being a total ass and doing things that he may not like, but does anyway, because he can. Sorry. Does anyone else at least agree with that?**

Chapter Six: Never Forgiven

_Life is an ugly, awful place to not have a best friend…_Keeping the Moon

"Shit! That hurts!"

"Well if you would quit moving, it wouldn't hurt so much!"

"Well, if you hadn't married him, this wouldn't have happened!"

"If you hadn't disappeared, I wouldn't have married him!"

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but quickly closed it again, sulking in his chair in the lounge at Malfoy Manor. Grace was watching from the couch, one pale eyebrow raised almost to her hairline. "So it's supposed to be _my_ fault that he came out of no where and punched me in the face?"

Hermione pursed her lips and threw the cool rag at him. "You jerk!"

"How am _I_ the jerk? He's the one who attacked me!" Draco yelled, his eyes following her as she nearly ran across the room to the bar, shakily pouring a tall glass of wine. She didn't answer till she had downed the entire goblet in one large gulp, her face screwed up like she had swallowed something sour. 

"I'm not going to argue with you, Draco. I'm not," Hermione said, slamming the goblet down on the bar. She walked over to the couch and kissed the top of Grace's head. The child barely even acknowledged the sentiment, her grey eyes focused on her father. "Goodnight, Love."

"Night," Grace replied, momentarily taking her eyes from Draco and watching her mother stumble from the room, having tripped over a lip in the oriental rug. She cursed under her breath and her footsteps could be heard crossing the large foyer and up the stairs, fading once she hit the carpet upstairs. 

Grace turned back to her father, her grey eyes bright and sharp. Draco looked at her warily. 

"Why did you bring us here?" Grace finally asked.

"_I_ didn't do anything. Your _mother_ did."

"I'm not stupid."

Draco scowled. "I know you aren't. I never said you were."

"So grow up and start acting like the adult in this conversation," Grace growled.

"I don't think I like your attitude, young lady," Draco said gruffly, watching as Grace straightened her posture and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn't look eight years old at that moment. She looked fierce. Like Hermione did when tested, pushed and angered. 

"Why were you gone?" Grace asked, her voice softer, more polite, but her body tense, waiting for Draco to slip and give her any reason to be disrespectful. "Why did you do that to her?"

"That, my dear, is none of your business," Draco said, taking the cold rag Hermione had thrown at him and placing it on the table next to his chair. His jaw was sore and the metallic taste of blood was still in his mouth. His left eye felt swollen beyond belief and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep forever. Like Rumpelstiltskin or whatever that stupid gnome-thing's name was.

Grace's arms visibly tightened over her chest. "I deserve an explanation just as much as Mum does. _You_ didn't have to see her every day. _You_ didn't see what it did. Did you think that she'd just forget? That she'd wake up the next morning, see you weren't there and then promptly forget about you and immediately be OK?"

"Grace, you have no idea what you're talking about," Draco said, standing and holding up his hand to get the child to stop. "And I don't want to hear it."

And he really didn't. Hermione didn't talk about The Lost Years. He didn't want to either. It just brought up his horrible memories, and he couldn't and wouldn't deal with that. He'd be damned if his daughter thought that she could bring it up. 

"Of course you don't," Grace sneered, her voice dropping into childish mockery. "All you ever do is run away from the things that scare you."

Draco just stared. This girl was brave. Very brave. She didn't even blink with fear, or fear of retribution, nothing. She just stared at him defiantly. Daring him to lash out at her. To tell her she was wrong. 

"What would ever make you think that?" Draco asked, unable to tell her off, to tell her to go to her room and stay there till lunch tomorrow, something to get back his authority. 

"You did. When I first saw your face in a photograph. When Mum cried every night and even came into my room, sleepwalking, and calling me your name. Why else would you have disappeared?" Grace stood from her seat and walked past him, out of the room and into the foyer. Draco followed quickly. 

"I think you owe me an apology, young lady. How dare you think you can talk to your father like that!" 

Grace rounded on him. "And I think you owe me my whole childhood, but you don't see me making impossible demands!"

Silence echoed through the house. Draco stood, dumbfounded, staring at his daughter, who had such hatred in her eyes, when just earlier today she'd been playing games with him and calling him Daddy, acting as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 

"Gracie," Came Hermione's voice. Draco and Grace both looked up to see Hermione standing at the top of the stairs, her hand extended for Grace to take. "Come. Let's go to bed."

Bounding up the stairs, Grace practically ran away from Draco. Hermione took her hand and led her away, neither of them speaking, but hundreds, upon thousands of emotions flickering between the both of them. She tucked Grace into bed, kissed her forehead and told her to say her prayers, just like any other night.

When Hermione came to the top of the stairs again, Draco was still standing in the same spot, staring at the ground. His shoulders were slumped, defeated. He didn't move or even acknowledge that he knew Hermione was there until she was at his side, touching his shoulder. "Come to bed, Malfoy."

He started at the sound of his last name coming off her lips. He hadn't heard her address him so impersonally in years. And he wasn't sure that he was ready to admit that it was high time he took her in his arms and told her everything, without fear. 

Hermione removed her hand; he felt faint, like he was going to drown in a raging sea, his only life preserve dancing inches out of his grasp on the waves beside him. Her eyes were distant, almost cold. "Come to bed," She repeated, but didn't wait for him to respond. Instead she walked up the stairs and disappeared into the inky blackness, out of sight. 

It seemed hours that he stood there, just waiting. Eventually, his legs began to shake and his vision blurred from his knees having been locked for so long. A house elf came to his side and took his arm, leading him down the foyer, up the stairs and down the hall to his room. With a snap of the creatures fingers, his clothes were changed from his robes to his nightclothes, and with an extra push, Draco found himself lying on his back in his bed. The covers were pulled over him and the house elf whispered "Goodnight, Master Malfoy," before leaving the room. 

It seemed deathly quiet and still, like he were the only occupant in the room. He turned his head and looked to his right. The bed was empty. The covers hadn't even been pulled back or touched at all. He felt as alone as he had five years ago. 

**-x-**

"Draco, wake up."

Draco's eyes opened slowly, fighting to close again from the bright, white light permeating his bedroom. When his eyes focused, he found Hermione, fully dressed standing at the side of the bed. He reached out for her, but she took a step back, just out of his reach. 

"What's wrong, Love?"

"Don't," Hermione said, closing her eyes briefly. "I can't do this anymore, Draco. I just can't."

"Do what? What's going on?" Draco asked as he sat up and threw the covers off of him. 

"I can't stay here. Not like this."

"Like what? Are you leaving me?" Draco asked, his voice rising in pitch, even cracking at the end. He blamed it on still being half-asleep. 

Hermione didn't answer. Her brown eyes said it all. As much as he hated it, the hot prickling sensation of tears took over and he had to blink rapidly to hide it. 

"Why?"

A sigh answered him. And then, "This isn't right. We never exactly _have_ been right. I just think, that until this is all finalized, we shouldn't live together. Not like this."

Draco nodded his head, sucking his lips into his mouth to help keep the tears from falling. Finally he felt the need to ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

Hermione reached out and touched him. Her touch was like ice on his skin. "Because I have no fear of you."

**-x-**

Grace was staring at him. Her eyes were ringed with red and her nose was runny. She repeatedly wiped the sleeve of her shirt under her nose, sniffling loudly. Hermione reached for her arm, but Grace slipped away from her. 

"I don't want to leave."

Hermione sighed. "We must."

"No, _you_ must! I don't want to go!" Tears poured down the child's face. An emotion Draco had never felt before, something primal and deadly took over his heart and he wanted nothing more than to take his little girl in his arms and never let her go, to wipe away her tears and tell her everything was going to be OK. 

"Grace, please, don't do this," Hermione whispered. She looked drained and tired. Jackson was sleeping in her arms, slipping farther and farther down her body as she struggled to keep on her feet.

Grace sobbed uncontrollably and turned to her father, reaching for him. It was indescribable to him, the feeling he got, when she was in his arms, seeking comfort. "Don't make me go, Daddy, don't make me."

"Grace, this is getting pathetic, come on," Hermione said, refusing to come any closer to Draco, yet itching to grab her daughter and run as far away as possible. 

"Let her stay," Draco whispered, squeezing Grace to him, vowing to never let her go.

Hermione looked stumped, like she hadn't thought of this and had no idea what reason would be good enough to make Draco hand her over. 

"Hermione, just stay. We don't have to sleep together. I promise," He felt like he was begging. He hated begging, and yet he couldn't stop. "Don't do this to me, don't leave me here!"

"What about me and what you did to me? How is that really fair? You get to spend _five_ years in God knows where doing whatever your little heart pleases, while I raise our daughter and mourn the fact that everyone thinks you're dead, and are telling me to do the same? I deserve so much more! And until you can give me that, you don't deserve to have us, to act like nothing ever happened!"

"Are you going to hold it over my head forever?" Draco yelled at her. Hermione took a step back. "I'm sorry. I really am! I don't know what to do to prove it to you how sorry I am."

"How about an explanation?" Hermione deadpanned. 

Draco gulped loudly. Grace buried her face in his neck, her arms wrapped tightly around him in an iron grasp. "I can't give you that."

Hermione clenched her jaw. "Grace, come on."

"No," Grace said, clinging to him. Hermione walked up to them and wrenched Grace from his grasp. Draco followed, trying in vain to take his daughter back.

"You can't take her away from me, Granger! She's as much mine as she is yours!"

"You didn't even want her when she was born!"

There was silence for a moment. Grace looked stricken, staring at her mother and then her father in turn. 

Draco breathed heavily, quickly. "You have no proof of that. Don't start making lies to suit yourself."

"If you wanted her, you would have been there!" Hermione said, taking Grace's hand and pulling her out of the foyer and onto the front porch. 

"Granger! Stop!" Draco yelled after her.

Hermione didn't stop. She quickened her pace, running for the apparition point at the bottom of the hill. Draco easily caught her. He grabbed her arm, turning her around to face him. "If you leave, you're proving that you're no better than I."

"No, see, the difference between you and I is that I had the courage to tell you. I didn't leave you, at your weakest, and hope that you would be understanding when I decided to come back," Hermione said, pulling her arm away.

"Where are you going to go? You have no one," Draco said, stopping Hermione in her tracks. "You have no home. Harry can't take you in. His little wife would murder you in your sleep. Oh, and your other best friend? The one you married and cheated on twice now? I don't think he'll be too understanding."

Hermione turned back and looked at him. He saw her jaw clenching and unclenching and before he could say anything more, she apparated away, right before his very eyes. 

…

…

…

…

…

…

**A/N: Don't kill me! hides behind computer I know that y'all aren't going to be too happy about this, but I promise its not going to be a long time of Draco and Hermione not together. I just couldn't really see Hermione staying with him after what he's done, expecting her to not want answers and things like that. **

**R&R!**


	7. The Beating of My Heart

A/N: Well, I must say that I'm happy that the last chapter had a good response

**A/N: Well, I must say that I'm happy that the last chapter had a good response. At least I didn't get any flamers about the obvious, or telling me that I'm a horrible writer, yadda, yadda, yadda… **

Chapter Seven: The Beating of My Heart

_There comes a time in every life when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your heart…_

He was in complete agony. Total, unadulterated, burning agony. There wasn't a time or a place where he could remember ever feeling like this, including The Lost Years.

All he wanted, needed, dreamed was that her walking out the door and sequentially out of his life was just a horrid nightmare. He even went straight back up the stairs and fell unceremoniously into bed, falling asleep immediately in the hopes that when he woke up next she'd be lying next to him, or maybe that his daughter would be in the library smirking at him when he walked into the room. He missed the smirk that so greatly resembled his own.

The house just wasn't the same. The _house elves_ weren't the same for Christ's sake. Hermione Granger's constant babbling on their rights, the enslavement they had endured for practically the beginning of the world, was just the beginning of their suffering if they didn't rebel and demand payment, clothes and, god forbid, holidays. Even though they didn't necessarily _want_ these things and knew that part of their very essence was to serve and to be loyal to their families, it was nice to hear that at least _someone_ out there cared enough to fight a losing battle. However annoying it got when they were trying to serve dinner.

Every day seemed just that much more bleak. Just that much more empty. Draco felt he would go insane. And nearly fell back into The Lost Years, going to parties with friends from school he hadn't seen in years, getting pissed drunk and yet unable to even look twice at any girl that was practically having sex with him on the dance floor.

More than once he woke up on his face in the entrance hall to Malfoy Manor and even more than that he woke up on the couch or floor in someone else's household with more than one body lying across his own.

And every time he went home, he felt like beating himself overtop the head with one of Hermione's ridiculously large tomes until some sense had planted its roots in his brain. He wanted to grow up, he wanted so many things. Pride, some manly instinct and another issue with never having had the courage to change inhibited these actions. It didn't matter that he held his breath for as long as he could in the sink filled with ice cold water only to fall onto the floor minutes later blue in the face and panting like a rabid dog; it didn't change the fact that every night he _felt_ like crying. His pride just wouldn't let him.

Besides, a part of him always said, men don't cry. Especially Malfoy men.

Pride was what kept him awake at night. Pride was what kept him pacing the carpeted floor in front of the parlor's fireplace keeping him from flooing immediately to every residence he knew Hermione could be. Pride was what made him go out almost every night, partying and drinking himself stupid.

He hated himself for that. For not being able to step up, once again, and take responsibility. For letting the love of his life walk away. It was getting pathetic.

Anyone else would have simply gone after them, apologized, explained where the Hell they had been and what they'd been doing and take their family home. Hell, he'd take Jackson if that's what it meant to have Hermione back. If she wanted him to adopt the red-headed baby and shower him with gifts and make him one of his own, then for fuck's sake, he'd bloody well do it!

He'd practically do anything! Anything. Except go to her. Draco wouldn't make the first step. He wouldn't go after her. He didn't even have the courage to stake out Diagon Alley and see if she was shopping with Grace. Very stupidly and quite rashly, he made a plan to kidnap Grace and bring her here, just so that Hermione would come home, but then quickly discovered that even parents could go to jail; especially parents without custody. No, that little honor still lies with Ronald Weasley. For now.

The manor was turning into a pit of woeful despair. He forbade the house elves from coming in his room and thus was currently living in squalor, dirty sheets and clothes galore. He only took meals in the library, the quietest place and the one place that for reasons unknown, his brain refused to think properly. Maybe it was because Hermione always did the thinking when in the library and thus had caused him to get in the habit of spacing out.

Blaise stopped by regularly, bringing with him an eclectic array of people that usually started a party, raiding the excessive vaults of vintage wines and whiskey's ending with Draco stumbling out of the room and up to his bedroom whilst the partiers downstairs broke priceless items of Malfoy heirlooms and more often than not ended up buck naked on his floor when he came downstairs the next day.

It wasn't long till the house elves started leaving the house in total neglect. They quit cleaning the party's messes, even quit picking up the shards of glass and articles of clothing left behind, both male and female. Matter of fact, Draco couldn't tell you the last time he had seen a elf… His meals were always waiting for him and the kitchens were always empty when he went down for snacks and more alcohol.

Needless to say, Draco never even noticed, so far into his mind as he was, so preoccupied with stupid thoughts of self-pity and sorrow.

"Master Malfoy, there is a visitor for you," Tippy, Draco's personal house elf announced one late Tuesday afternoon. He didn't enter his master's room, as ordered, but stared in disgust out on the horrendously unclean level of the room. His long green nose was turned up, long, thick hairs poking out of his nostrils.

"Tell them to go to Hell," was the scratchy reply.

Tippy cleared his throat and pursed his thick green lips. "I believe sir, that that would be most unwise."

"I didn't ask for your advice, Tippy. I told you to tell them to go to Hell, now do it or I'll give you clothes!" Draco yelled, sitting up from his spot on the bed. Tippy merely sighed and his little shoulders sagged. He nodded his head in compliance and shut the door. Draco flopped back down on the bed, ignoring the faint odor of dirty hair that permeated off of them. Never had he felt so gross, and yet it felt liberating at the same time. His father must be rolling around in his grave, he thought with glee, smiling at the prospect of the ever OCD Lucius Malfoy seeing his son living like a poor man in the gutters.

Draco was graced with a total of three minutes of solitude when he was startled by a female's voice shouting in the Entrance Hall. Intrigued he sat up and then shrugged his shoulders and lay back down again. He didn't care. If Hermione were here, he would, but she wasn't, and in his mind, she was never coming back.

The Mystery Woman's screams got louder, accompanied by the shrill voice of Tippy as they were audibly heard coming up the stairs. _This is going to be interesting_, Draco thought as he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. The blank ceiling, which not even three weeks ago, Hermione had been pointing out the shapes in the shadows of animals, back when things were good and Draco showered on a regular basis.

"I don't care if he _says_ no one can see him!"

_Wait a blooming minute,_ Draco thought lifting his head. That sounded like Hermione.

The door to his room flew open. He nearly fainted in surprise. There, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and looking like a Greek goddess was Hermione Granger, her hair wild and free, hanging about her shoulders, brown eyes alight with fury. She looked about the room, wrinkled her nose in disgust and slammed the door on the little house elf.

"What the bleeding **hell** do you think you are doing?" Hermione yelled at him. Her hands went to her hips, her hair practically crackled with electricity and her left foot tapped impatiently on the floor.

Draco didn't answer. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that she was here. In his bedroom. With him. It was all a bit much.

Hermione was about to open her mouth when something hot pink caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She snapped her mouth shut and hesitated before stalking across the room, her face drawn in a look of absolute incredulity.

Following her line of motion, Draco stared at Hermione as she reached across the back of an antique settee and pulled out from behind a cushion where it had been partially obscured revealing to the room a hot pink, nearly completely see-threw, lace bra.

"So, _darling_… Is this how you've been entertaining yourself?" Hermione seethed, crumpling the bra in her hands and throwing it at him. "I'll have you know I couldn't even leave your daughter alone in the house because there are _naked_ people walking about!"

"It's not mine, Hermione," Draco stated, tossing the bra onto the floor.

"Well no shit Sherlock! Unless you've lost your dick along with your bollocks and have grown a pair of boobs along with the vag-"

"You keep trying to pick a fight with me, but I'm just happy that you're here!" Draco exclaimed coming across the room towards her.

Hermione held up her hand, pushing against Draco's chest so that he was unable to touch her. She shook her head in amazement. "I'll have you know that I came back here so that we could talk about this…. About what's happened. I'm not even sure now why I bothered coming at all, thinking that maybe you've changed, that you've had enough time to think. Now I think you may never change."

"Love, don't say that-" Draco began only to be cut off by Hermione.

"Don't, Malfoy," Her voice was drawn and shaking uncontrollably. "Is this what you've been doing all this time? Is this what you did those five years? Lived like a- a, Christ I don't even know what to call it! Is this what really makes you feel better?"

"Well, no, of course not-"

"Then why the hell are you doing it?"

Draco was silenced. It as like he had been hit with a ton of bricks. Why _was_ he doing this? Making himself feel like crap day in and day out.

Hermione sighed and walked across the room. Her voice was soft, as if she'd given up. "I just came to tell you that no matter what it was you did, I love you. And Grace loves you."

"I love you too."

"Really?" Hermione asked, opening the door. She shook her head and smiled sadly. "I don't think you know the true meaning of loving a person."

**-x-**

She was gone by the time he made it downstairs as was Grace. Tippy was just closing the door when Draco made it into the Entrance Hall. He was panting heavily, a stitch growing in his side. An array of giggles and laughing was coming from the parlor just to the left of the Hall. "Did they leave?"

Tippy nodded his head solemnly and walked off down a narrow corridor that lead to the kitchens. His little feet were making pattering noises on the tiled floor. His ears appeared to be drooping and Draco swore he could see a five pound note of Muggle money in his green fist.

He squeezed his eyes shut; the sound of his heart pounding in his chest filled his body and his hands clenched and unclenched in time. And suddenly, it was if he'd opened his eyes for the first time and saw just _what_ Hermione did when she looked at him.

Storming across the Entrance Hall and threw open the door to the parlor. It seemed the carpet had been replaced with people. People everywhere. People lying across the couches, the bar, the tables, even one he thought he could just make out inside the fireplace. Blaise was easily found, the only one still standing.

"Draco, my man! Shed those clothes, grab a drink! Plenty of pretty girls to go about more than once!" Blaise tossed his head back and downed a tumbler of amber liquid in one gulp. He swayed a bit and righted himself on a girl, passed out on the couch. He chuckled and attempted to walk across the bodies, but only ended up falling on his face.

"I think, Blaise, that you should leave," Draco's fists were clenched tightly as he attempted to keep his eyes on Blaise, despite the orgy that was happening on his floor.

Blaise lifted his face, a drunken smile still on his handsome face. "What?"

"Leave. Now."

The other man's eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."

"LEAVE!" Draco bellowed. The room became silent and everyone looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. A girl across the room on the bar was whispering to her friend, "Who the fuck is he?"

"Get. Out. Of. My. House." Draco said slowly and quite scarily. People began to move, pulling articles of clothing from places Draco didn't even know was possible to lose them in the first place. The stragglers he threatened with his wand and even burnt a fellow on the arse by shooting sparks at him for not getting into the fireplace fast enough.

Blaise was the last to go, scowling deeply at his best friend before disappearing in a burst of green flames with one girl on each arm.

Draco breathed deeply and looked around the room. His nose turned up at the sight that graced him. Taking his wand again in his right hand he banished the empty booze bottles and a second later cleared out the bar of the full and partially full bottles. In that instant, he'd given up alcohol. Forever. He was just burning the left behind clothing when Tippy came into the room, startling Draco when he let out a sob.

"What is it?" Draco asked gruffly, tossing a pair of slacks in the fireplace.

Tippy shook his head, his ears flopping against his head. "Never in my life did I ever think you'd do something for yourself, Master."

Draco's brows furrowed together in confusion. "I've always done things for myself!"

"No," Tippy objected, though he looked immensely pained to do so, to talk back to his master, "You've always yourself ordered others to do things _for_ you."

He didn't have the nerve to object to that. It seemed that he was no longer to sweep his past transgressions under the rug. Instead, he nodded his head, turning to stare at the rug his mother had bought in Turkey, sweeping his socked feet over and over across a repeating pattern sewn into the carpet.

Tippy sighed deeply and walked out of the room, disappearing to wherever it was the house elves were hiding out. Draco went from room to room, cleaning up the messes, banishing bottles and burning articles of clothing, filling the rooms of Malfoy Manor with a musty, smoky haze and a burnt smell that wafted through the halls and clung to the thick drapes at each window. And it was strange, he thought, cleaning after ones self. He'd never done it. Hermione had always cleaned his room at Hogwarts because she couldn't stand the smell of dirty clothes and tripping over things when she came in his room, and before that, it had always been the house elves. But now, it felt nice. He tore down the curtains in the library and in the halls, bringing light into the dreary manor.

By the time night had fallen Draco had cleaned almost the entire West Wing, tossed out all the heavy drapes and had Tippy and another house elf called Masie replace them with airy, light sheer things that floated when the wind blew in; he thought Hermione might like this. She'd always complained about the heaviness in the Manor. All he had to do was get her to come over again, or at least wait expectantly for her. No- that was the whole point, not _waiting_ for people to come to him, but shelving his pride and going to them.

Exhausted, he sat in the library and listened. Just listened. Listened to his heart beat in his chest, listened for maybe the first time in his life what his heart said and not his mind. He listened in a way he had never listened before. To the way his heart pounded in his ears and against his rib cage. Felt the way it pulsed under his breast. And it seemed amazing to him that for the first time in his life, in all his twenty five years, that he had never stopped to listen to himself, had always been listening to what other people said, and thought and what they did. He'd been too preoccupied with what he thought _should_ be done and what he _wanted_ to be done.

It was in that moment, as he sat in Hermione's chair breathing in her scent, that his heart beat something foreign into him, something not quite as manly as his father would have wanted, but something right. And for the first time, he listened.

**A/N: OK, so I'm sorry I didn't get this out when I said I would. But thank you everyone for your review! I kind of forgot that this last weekend was Easter weekend, and as all divorced kids will know, I had a million different Easter gatherings to go to. But it was nice and fun. Hope y'all like it!**


	8. Honestly

Chapter Eight: Honestly

Chapter Eight: Honestly

_Don't think or judge, just listen…_

He was beyond nervous. His palms shook and he had to repeatedly wipe them on his slacks. His knees shook and he couldn't stand for longer than five minute periods, thus leading him to have found a seat in the busy café in muggle London, the place she had agreed to meet him: The ONLY place she had agreed to meet him.

People kept staring at him, raising their eyebrows at his odd attire and his inability to pay for the cup of tea he bought at the counter despite the fact he had a British accent. Eventually this young girl who blushed the entire time helped him, pulling out a fiver and lying it on the counter.

"Thanks," Draco had mumbled before walking away and sitting in the farthest corner and the darkest one at that. Lucky for him, London was full of interesting people and the guy who couldn't count money didn't interest the general public for long.

Now if only Hermione would get here, then he could get this whole thing over with. With considerable self control, he managed to make his tea last him five minutes and only scalded himself once when he missed his mouth and poured the hot beverage into his lap. After that, he'd settled for sitting as patiently as he could, staring at the door to the café, and rubbing his hands up and down his thighs.

"Would you like a refill, sir?" A middle-aged woman with graying hair asked him. Draco looked up at her and then shook his head quickly, "Uhm, no, no thank you."

"If you need anything, Luv, just ask then," The woman continued on to the next table, just as Hermione appeared in the doorway, searching the crowded café for Draco. Her brown eyes found him, staring at her in the dark corner. She motioned towards the counter and he nodded, watching as she waited in line for a drink.

_OK, Malfoy, it's now or never, just do it, just tell her. What's the worst that can happen?_ Draco sighed and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "She'll hate me forever."

"Well, that's for me to decide, thanks," Hermione said, sitting down in front of him, placing her tea and muffin onto the table. She shrugged off her jacket and placed it on the back of the chair before she looked at him, sweeping fly-away tendrils behind her ears. "So?"

"So?" Draco repeated, dreading this confrontation. Hermione's eyebrows rose. She took a small sip of her tea, smacking her lips together afterwards.

"Are you going to talk to me, or are we going to sit in awkward silence the entire time?" She took another sip, looking at him over the rim of her cup.

"I think I prefer the awkward silence," Draco mumbled, laying his hands on the table and staring at the fake wood table top. Hermione reached across with one hand, lying it over his, her fingers gripping his tightly.

"Just tell me."

Draco stared at her for a moment, his eyebrows screwed up together in a look of pain. Hermione raised her eyebrows even further, leaning close to him. Expunging a large breath of air, Draco took his hand from Hermione and rested them in his lap, breathed in again and then said, "Please, don't judge me."

Hermione's brows furrowed, "I won't."

"Are you just saying that so I'll tell you, or because you really won't?"

Smirking, "Maybe it's a bit of both."

"Right," Draco said. He sighed again and looked up at the ceiling. He could just make out the shadow of a bunny on the tiles, shadowed from the outside light. Hermione looked up with him and then back across the table. "This is really hard to say."

"OK."

"I'm not proud of myself."

"There are many things I'm not proud of, Draco, but they happened none-the-less," Hermione whispered, cradling her cup of tea in both hands and leaning towards him. Draco simply looked at her, defeated.

"I still remember the way I felt when I heard you were in labor. Fear, is the only word that really sums it up, though in all honesty, it was something more than that," Draco didn't look at Hermione as he said this. "It was as if everything just hit me at once. I mean, yeah, you were pregnant and I was there for that, but all of a sudden, it hit me. You were pregnant. You were in labor. In a matter of hours, my babies would be here, waiting for me to be their Dad.

"And I couldn't do that. I couldn't do that, yet, be so responsible for someone else."

Hermione's eyes glazed over in slight hurt, but she didn't say anything. She kept her eyes trained on him, watching as he picked at a warp in the table top, run his long fingers over the rim of his cup and wad his napkin into a tight ball.

Draco looked distant, like he was saying something without much thought of who was around, like he was remembering something horrible, the way a POW remembered his imprisonment: indifferently and yet so emotionally, it was palpable in the air. "Snape came from no where. He took my arm and led me down to the dungeons to his office. I still remember the way it smelt. Like fish and a mold that had long since taken root in the damp quarters. Snape yelled at me for what seemed like hours, and yet, all I could think about was how you were giving birth to my children and how I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to be a Dad, and I didn't want to be.

"Snape told me to get out and take you and our children and go into hiding, to stay out of sight so that my father and the Dark Lord wouldn't find us. To not tell anyone, even him where we were going. I nodded and left and before I knew it I was in Dover, on the muggle train going to France. My father would never think to look for me on the train. I put you and the babies out of my mind. I didn't let myself think of you or them, if they were healthy," He looked up at Hermione who had tears swimming in her eyes now. "If they were alive."

Draco reached across the table and spun his cup slowly in a circle by the handle, leaving a collection of rings behind. "I'm not proud of myself, Hermione. I hate myself even now for what I did. I can't believe, really, that I even did it."

Silence fell between them in which Hermione wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat, glancing around the café at the other occupants. She turned again to Draco to find him staring at her, his grey eyes dark and mysterious. They looked the way they had back in school, the way they had when she'd last seen him sitting at the Slytherin table, talking to his classmates. "What did you do, Draco?"

He sighed and drew his hand away from the cup. It was hard to look at her, so he didn't. He looked at the people around him, at his slacks, at the cup on the table, at her hands.

"The first night," He began suddenly, his head cocked to the side and working his bottom lip between his teeth. "The first night, I don't remember much of. I got a hotel room. I got pissed drunk. I think I passed out in the bathtub."

Hermione snorted. Draco looked up at her but then quickly away. He tried to continue with a strong voice. "The next night, that was the first time."

More silence. Hermione prompted him with a "What was the first time?" Though in her heart, she knew. She'd known all along.

"That second night I went out, went to a club, or a bar, or something, I don't remember. I drank. A lot. Far more than I ever have. I remember feeling invincible. I think it's a man thing that happens when drunk…"

Hermione smiled, "Yeah, I'll agree to that."

"I got into a fight with some guy and was thrown out into the street. My French was bad and the cab I tried to take home ended up taking me to the red light district. I argued with the guy, called him a filthy piece of shit. He threw me out when I puked in the backseat," Hermione grimaced at that, but agreed she'd have done the same thing. "So, I was left in the most seedy part of town. I had money. I bought an hour with a prostitute."

Draco looked up at Hermione but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was focused on the table, on the mug in her hands. Finally she looked up. Her face was drawn, tight and expressionless. "And? What happened then? I told you I wanted to know everything."

"I know, but why?" Draco questioned. Reliving The Lost Years wasn't very high on his list of things to do, and he couldn't understand why Hermione'd want to know. It wasn't like hiring questionable women and getting drunk was very romantic or heroic.

"Because I deserve this, and I need to know what to tell Gracie when she asks why her daddy was gone when she was a baby," Hermione stated. "I need to be able to tell her that her Daddy loves her, no matter what, and believe what I'm saying."

"I do love her, Hermione. I love her more than anything. I always have," Draco confessed, his voice more full of emotion than Hermione thought she had ever heard.

Hermione nodded her head, pursing her lips.

"Over the five years, I squandered good money. I lived in my hotel room. I bought more than one prostitute, and I always felt horrible afterwards. More than once I thought about drowning myself in the bathtub and tried it once, or twice. I'm definitely not proud of that.

"And then, I decided to come back home, to England. I went to the Manor to find it was almost exactly as I'd left it, only now my mother and my father were gone. Dead or something. I don't know where they are, even now. The thought of going to Diagon Alley just sort of came to me and without even thinking about it, I went, still in the same clothes I'd been in from France.

"And then there she was. Grace. She was standing in front of Quidditch Supplies, staring at the newest broom model when I first saw her. It took me a couple of minutes to recognize her, but when I did, she had already noticed me and had disappeared into the crowd. I followed her, trailed her to the book store, where I saw you. I think you know the rest."

The sounds of the café engulfed his ears. He looked around the room, watched an older couple sitting two tables away smile at one another and whisper. At the back of his mind, he wondered if they would ever be like that, he and Hermione.

"You hired prostitutes?" Hermione suddenly asked.

Draco looked at her as she spoke taking in the incredulous look on her face. "Yes."

"Why? Didn't you think that you could get an STD or something?"

"This is like Déjà vu from school, 'Mione."

"I'm being serious, Draco! What if you gave me something! What if you got some STD and don't know?" Hermione whispered furiously.

Draco sighed. "I don't have STD's Hermione. I got tested, OK?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "I can't believe that you had sex with someone you didn't even know. That's just sick!"

"I distinctly remember you promising to not judge, Hermione," Draco whispered, anger taking over. It wasn't as though he liked what he had done. But it was like she said, he'd done it, he wasn't proud of it, but it happened. Get over it. Right?

"I never promised. I said OK."

"Oh, so now, who's acting like a child, Hermione?" Draco asked, his voice raising slightly. "You get mad at me for not being able to step up to my mistakes, and yet, you can't even handle the fact that I made a mistake! Yes, I did! I hate it! And part of me will always hate myself! Do you think that I didn't think about you at all? About Grace? About my son? I thought about you all the fucking time! I wondered where you were, what you were doing, if you were sick and if things were going OK. If you had enough money and where you were living, how Pothead and Weasel were taking it."

"Oh, yeah," Hermione muttered sarcastically. "You thought about us all right, right after you fucked some stranger!"

"That's it," Draco said standing from his seat, catching the attention of the others in the café. "I'm fucking tired of you and your bipolar moods. One second you're alright and sympathetic and the next it's like I can't do anything right, like every mistake I've made is some personal vendetta against you! I'm fucking tired of it. So you know what, I'm going to leave, because I tried and now I'm sick of this. And I can't ask you for anything. All you'd do is hold it over my head and make me work for it. But, you can't keep Grace from me."

Draco grabbed his coat and walked across the tiny restaurant and out into the cold air. He shoved his arms into his coat and buttoned it up to his neck.

"Wait! Draco, wait!"

Hermione ran out of the café after him. She pushed against people in order to reach him and when she finally did, grabbed his coat, whirling him around so that they were face to face. "Why can't we talk it out?"

"What?" Draco exclaimed, throwing his hands up, knocking Hermione grip from his jacket. "Why can't we _talk_? Because every time we try to _talk_ you always take something personally and act like some bipolar bitch!"

Several people close by scowled at Draco's choice of language but continued walking. Hermione sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry. OK? I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's right, say you're sorry and expect me to take you back on bended knee!"

"Well I did!" Hermione yelled.

"And I'm not you!" Draco yelled back. "You think people are just like you, think just like you and when they do things _you_ don't like, you get mad, like someone is trying to make you into some sort of tart! You can't accept the fact that people make mistakes that _you_ wouldn't, because you can't accept the fact that everyone is _**different**_"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but closed it a second later. She scuffed the tip of her shoe on the pavement and watched Draco's feet move restlessly. And then his pointer finger was under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "I'm not perfect Hermione. You're not perfect. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can move on, but until then, I don't see this getting anywhere."

"What are you saying?" Hermione whispered. She could feel his hot breath on her mouth.

"That maybe I'm not the only one who needs to grow up a bit," Draco rubbed his thumb over her lips and then kissed her chastely. He broke away and then kissed her again, this time more passionately. Hermione responded to his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. Once again, he broke away, this time more suddenly, leaving Hermione ill-balanced and confused. "Don't stay away so long this time."

Hermione watched him turn and walk away, watched him slip away in a side alley and could swear she could hear him apparate over the street noise. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but knew that he was right. That she had been unfair in her judgment. It had begun to snow by the time Hermione moved, apparating away back to her parents home, where she climbed into bed behind Grace and fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

**A/N: Wow, I wrote that fast! Hope y'all like it! And finally we find out that Hermione is just as childish as Draco is, just in a different way. **

**Thanks for everyone who reviewed! **


	9. In My Dreams

Chapter Nine: In My Dreams…

Chapter Nine: In My Dreams…

_Forgiving is not forgetting, it's letting go of the hurt… --Anonymous_

Maybe it'd always been this way. That the things in Hermione Granger's life weren't supposed to follow code with life's Book of Rules, and Everything You Should and Shouldn't Do When Faced With Extremely Shitty Problems. If she thought about it and surmised it all in her head, it would start when she got her letter and then escalated with the befriending of Harry and Ron, finally ending with the latest dilemma of Draco Malfoy and being the mother of his child.

In her dreams, she saw him. He was always there, where she figured he'd been all along, standing just behind her at her favorite coffee shop during summer vacation from Hogwarts, sitting beside her in Potions, the one place they never interacted and even in her bed, lying next to her, never touching, and yet, always watching, his body heat on the mattress beside her. It was in these moments that Grace and her still-born son seemed to fade in a nonexistent slot reserved for when we go to sleep, and Hermione found herself walking through her memories.

They were in the library, at one moment, sitting at a table ignoring the person next to them and in the next she found herself pressed against the book shelves, a musty, papery odor infusing her senses as his hands roamed over her body, his lips covered her own. What she wouldn't give to be back there, in that time, surreal or not, when she had been young and stupid and responsibilities consisted of homework and prefect duties.

Honestly, she couldn't blame Ron for what he was doing, this last ditch attempt to keep Hermione no matter how miserable it would make the both of them. But she couldn't understand how he couldn't understand that no matter what he did, she'd always belong in some way to Draco Malfoy. That a part of her would always be his and could never be taken back, no matter what, or whom tried. There was the matter of Jackson, her son, the one she had thought would be a constant reminder to her still-born one, and had turned out to be just another child, like Grace. A being she loved dearly and desperately and would do anything to protect. But if it meant living in a sham and keeping her heart from happiness, she couldn't do that. The talk she'd had with her mother when she was seventeen that life didn't revolve around yourself anymore once you had a baby and that the things you wanted should be put on hold until your baby was old enough to do things himself suddenly seemed very martyr-like and too much a sacrifice Hermione was unwilling to make.

For too long she'd told herself that she didn't need Malfoy and that she would be happier without him, and ultimately, so would Grace who in her mind never forgave him for leaving her before she was born. Too long it'd been that she'd robbed herself of happiness and love and adoration that she had only ever been given from him. Ron could never give her what she wanted, had never been able to, and no matter what she thought, staying angry at Draco and holding grudges wasn't going to make him go away, but instead drive him away with hurt and anger and leave her miserable.

_Just let it go…_

What a hypocrite she was. To blame him for something that any man, and possibly woman, would have done with faced with the vivid picture of the rest of your life at the ripe ol age of seventeen, nearly eighteen. She couldn't blame him, not really, for running away, for trying in an albeit disgusting way to live a portion of his life that he would otherwise be unable to once he was a father and a husband.

Yes, it was disgusting and though she couldn't see herself doing what he had done, she knew that she couldn't hold it over his head forever. He'd left her. He'd exhausted himself with whores and alcohol. But he was back now. He saw the errors that he had made. He'd asked for forgiveness and had had it thrown back in his face. She'd asked and he'd told her everything; what more could she have asked for, this honesty from a man so ashamed of himself?

_Let it go…_

Hermione sighed and stood from her position in her bedroom at her parent's house. The childhood room that still bore pastel pink walls and white furniture; scars of a past that Hermione could barely even remember living. Everything seemed drowned out with the realization that she was a witch and the leaving for school. How trivial life seemed when young.

She sighed once more and turned away, leaving the room and then house altogether to walk down the road to pick up Grace from the primary school she had started just the past week. Her mind was so preoccupied with the thought of him that it took her a while to realize that she was actually staring at him standing at the corner no more than fifty feet away. Her feet came to an abrupt stop. His head was bowed, as if in shame, or maybe slight apprehension that she would berate him for showing up in broad daylight in her childhood neighborhood.

He brought his lower lip into his mouth and walked towards her. "Let's not make any more of a scene, love."

Hermione looked around them and noticed Mrs. Cuttingham standing in her garden with a hoe held in her hands like a weapon. Hermione waved a hand in greeting and started walking down the pavement with Draco as though they hadn't just stopped to stare at one another for a total of five minutes.

"How are you?" He questioned once they had been walking for a while, crossed the street and passed a queue of people waiting for the 222 bus.

"I've been better. You?" She glanced sideways at him. His long blond hair had fallen into his face and she resisted the urge to swipe it back behind his ear. Her hand throbbed with the effort to keep from touching him. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, he raised his head and shook the hair out of his face himself, relieving Hermione from her plight.

"I'm OK." Silence followed this. And then, whispered like not meant to be heard, "I've missed you."

Hermione stopped walking as did he and looked up at him. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry for what I did, I-"

He cut her off by pressing his hand across her mouth. In the distance Hermione could hear children playing outside and knew that they were close to the primary.

He removed his hand from her lips and cradled her face before leaning down and kissing her fully on the mouth. A group of passing teenagers laughed and jeered but Hermione and Draco ignored them.

Suddenly he broke away and started to pull her back in the direction of her parents home. "Come on…"

"I can't. I need to get Grace from school."

Draco's face contorted slightly in disgust. "You're putting her in muggle school?"

Hermione scowled slightly and tugged him along with her. "Yes, OK, I'm putting her through muggle school. What's wrong with that?"

"Well, they're muggles. And she's a witch. And they're muggles."

"I come from a muggle family and I know you don't have any problem with me."

Draco gave her his signature smirk. "You're a special exception."

They came upon the entrance to the school and waited at a safe distance from the other mothers and fathers. Draco was shuffling his feet from side to side as Hermione stood patiently, her eyes fixed steadily at the front of the school building for her platinum haired daughter.

"Hello!"

Draco started and actually jumped slightly at the over-enthusiastic greeting. Hermione merely turned and looked at Susan, a woman she had had several conversations with while waiting for Grace to leave.

"Susan, hi, how are you?" Hermione turned and gave the woman a hug, smirking at Draco over Susan's shoulder. Then plastering a big grin on her face, "How was James' appointment?"

Susan launched into a long story about her son, James, and his appointment with the doctor over whether or not he was asthmatic because he had had trouble breathing after running an entire soccer game last Saturday. Hermione failed to sympathize with Susan, knowing that Grace was often winded after playing for long periods of time without a break.

"Well, it turns out that he's not asthmatic at all! Just over-exerted! The doctor also said that his ears were too clean and that some ear wax was normal and if I didn't stop cleaning them every morning and night then he would have to get a special tube placed in his canal because of all the ear infections he's been getting lately. And I thought he was getting infections because they were dirty!"

They were interrupted by a shrill cry of "Daddy!" and both turned to see Grace propelling herself into Draco's outstretched arms. Susan cooed at the two of them who were both ignoring her.

"Why Hermione, I didn't know you were married! I thought you said your husband had died!"

And awkward silence fell over the group and Draco gave Hermione another smirk that clearly stated she was in for some hell.

"Did she say that?" Draco said with mock confusion. He walked over to the other women, placing Grace on the ground and wrapping a arm around Hermione's suddenly tense shoulders. "No, we aren't married. We're sweethearts, I guess you could say. A real Romeo and Juliet."

Hermione had to give him credit for even knowing who Romeo and Juliet were but regretted having ever talking to Susan in the first place. Draco continued as Grace's face morphed into a scowl.

"I did something horrible when we were younger, so Hermione here has lost all her faith in me and won't marry me, even though we've had a baby together," This was punctuated by a heavy sigh. Hermione looked away, her cheeks painted a deep scarlet. She could only guess what Susan would think of her now. Susan actually gasped and made some soothing comments. "Yes, thank you, thank you. Hopefully soon she'll marry me, then our next child won't be a bastard like Gracie here."

Grace turned her death scowl on her father and placed her hands on her hips. Susan chuckled nervously, her gaze fixed on something just beyond Hermione. Draco kept smiling, his arm tight around Hermione's shoulders.

"Mum," came a solemn voice from behind Hermione and Draco. They both turned as one and looked at a small boy with sandy blond hair and dark brown eyes. He was thin and dressed to the T in an outfit one might wear on the first day of school, or maybe picture day. Grace's scowl deepened as she hid behind Draco's legs.

"James! Son, come over here and say hello to Ms. Hermione!"

James gave Hermione a solemn look and did as his mother asked, glancing at Grace for no more than a second. Draco cleared his throat and loosened his hold on Hermione.

Susan busied herself with spitting on her fingers and trying to smooth a cowlick on the back of James' head. She fixed his clothes, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his white, button down shirt. The boy looked annoyed but didn't say anything to his mother. His cheeks turned a dark pink and Hermione was surprised to find Grace's scowl focused not on the boy as she had previously thought, but on the mother.

"Well, Susan, it was lovely to see you again, but I think we must be going. Say goodbye Grace," Hermione instructed. Grace turned her focus onto James who if possible blushed even harder and muttered something that none of the adults caught but made James' eyes widen in surprise.

Hermione grabbed Grace's hand and pulled her away before anything more could be said. Draco followed quickly behind the two women as Susan started berating her son for a stain on his slacks.

"Was something special going on at school today, or something?" Draco asked, glancing behind him as they turned the corner off of school property and onto the main road. "I mean, the kid was dressed nice, but you'd think his mum would know that he's going to play in the dirt…"

"James is always dressed like that," Grace said softly.

Draco jogged to catch up with them. "I think someone has a crush on James."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Draco's childishness. Grace wrenched her hand out of her mother's and turned to her father, screaming "I do NOT like him!" before taking off down the sidewalk towards her grandparents house. As she passed Ms. Cuttingham's garden a rose bush went up in flames and Draco burst out in laughter. Old Mrs. Cuttingham screamed in terror and fainted on her front walk just as two ministry officials apparated right into the garden, squelching the flames and carrying the old woman into her house.

"Stop it, Draco! It's not funny! What if that had been Mrs. Cuttingham!" Hermione exclaimed, walking faster to reach her daughter's retreating figure.

But Hermione's proclamation only made Draco laugh all the harder and she left him there on the sidewalk, breaking into a run as Grace disappeared into the house.

"Hermione! Hermione wait! I'm sorry!" Draco continued to laugh and Hermione quickened her pace as she heard his heavy footfalls behind her. What a sight it must have seemed to anyone watching from their windows to see Hermione running as fast as she could, panting and Draco running after her, laughing his head off.

They reached her parent's house and stumbled inside. Draco's laughter had finally subsided as he continued to breath normally and Hermione fell onto the bottom most stair, panting heavily.

"We didn't run that far, did we?" Draco asked innocently moving off for the kitchen where Hermione could hear him conversing with Grace. Hermione scowled and stood from her spot, clutching at a spot just under her ribs. She really needed to start running again.

**-x-**

Later that night after Grace had been bathed and put down for bed, Hermione found herself back in her room, sitting on her bed, in the exact same position as earlier that day. Only this time there was someone sitting next to her. Draco had an iron grip on her hand. His body heat permeated through her clothing and if it weren't for Grace lying on the mattress on the floor sleeping, she had a feeling that said clothing wouldn't be on her body anymore.

"I'm sorry," She said suddenly, looking across her small room at the wall where posters of bands she had loved when she were younger were stuck up with tack.

"I know you are."

"Well, do you forgive me?"

He was silent, but his grip on her hand didn't lessen. "Yes. I do forgive you."

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?"

"I like to make you sweat."

"You're such an ass."

"No cussing in front of the kid."

Hermione chuckled slightly. "I missed you."

Draco let go of her hand and pulled her against him. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head. A strange feeling had come over him, one that he hadn't felt for the girl sitting next to him since that first time in her Head Girl's room. When she had looked up at him and given him the look that he knew he reciprocated. Satisfaction. But now, sitting in yet another one of her rooms with his daughter sleeping on the floor beside them, he didn't think he could be more satisfied with his life at the present time. Sure, things weren't all Walt Disney and she was still married to his arch enemy, but she was with him, not Ron Weasley. She had his baby, and not Weasley's. When worst came to worse, she stayed with him to battle through it.

Yes, he was completely and utterly satisfied.

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**A/N: Wow, guys, I'm so sorry that this has taken so long. I don't know if it even makes sense, but it's the best I came up with, so enjoy. Reason why it's been so long is because I've been training for my audition to Drama School in London, which I just did last week. And just got back from England not too long after that, so I apologize for the extremely long delay and hope that satisfies you!**


	10. Fate is for Losers

Chapter Ten: Weakness is a Virtue

Chapter Ten: Weakness is a Virtue

_Fate is for those too weak to determine their own destiny. – Kamran Hamid_

She was sitting in a small, overly stuffy room next to Gregory Gumboil and in front of Ron and his lawyer desperately wishing that she were still lying in bed next to Draco with his arms wrapped around her. She wasn't a romantic, had never really taken pleasure in chick flicks about sappy romance and puppy love and actually blushed with embarrassment when she thought of Draco, or any man for that matter, waiting for her in her room, on her bed, with a bottle of champagne and chocolate. No, she was more of a let's-do-it-in-the-dark-and-make-it-wild-and-steamy kind of persons. But this was different. This was comfort. And satisfaction. And at the moment she was anything but comforted and satisfied.

Ron kept clearing his throat, each time increasing the burning sensation on the back of her head. Hermione almost wanted to turn around and tell him to fuck off, anything to get him to stop staring at her. But she knew in her head that it would only spur him on. He was the one with a million siblings after all, and she'd learned how lucky she really was to be an only child when she went to his house on holidays and birthdays.

Just as she felt the end of her rope of patience coming at break neck speed, a bailiff opened the door and called the two lawyers out of the room. Once Gregory and Gil had left the room, he turned to the two estranged people left and calmly reminded them that they were being recorded for security purposes. The door that closed behind him, sealing them in the room, felt just as oppressive as a jail cell.

Once the door was closed, Ron was up out of his seat and into the recently vacated one next to his wife. Hermione jumped and turned to him, but didn't leave her seat. She had turned her upper body towards him and looked at him with deeply guarded eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Ron chewed his bottom lip, a movement that Hermione couldn't remember him ever having had made before. His blue eyes were bright and the tops of his ears were scarlet; with rage or embarrassment, she couldn't tell.

Finally he burst, the words flowing from his mouth like verbal diarrhea; it took Hermione extra attention to understand him: "I can't believe that you would stay with him while you're still married to me, have you no morals?!"

His questions, which Hermione in all her grammar glory had to restrain herself from mentally correcting in her head, had run together, sounding much more like a different language, much in a way that reminded her of when they were in school. "I'm _not_ staying with him."

It was the honest truth, but Ron Weasley had come to a point in his life where anything that came from Hermione's mouth was an immediate lie. "Why? _Why_ can't you just be honest with me?"

"I _am_ being honest with you. I swear it, Ron! Look, I'm sorry for what's happened, really I am, but you have to understand something!" Ron was staring at her with narrowed eyes, a look that clearly stated he hated her beyond words, actions and all emotions. "Ron, my heart has _always_ been his. Since the first time he touched me, when we were seventeen, to the last time I saw him. I _never _stopped loving him, ever! You had to have known that when I gave you that chance!"

"Oh yes, because I'm just _stupid, pathetic_ Ron Weasley, always second best to Hermione Granger!"

Hermione stood from her seat. "There was no preordained law that said that we just _had_ to be together, Ron! You can't blame me on this, only yourself for being so damn persistent!"

Ron stood as well and Hermione found herself taking a shallow step back. "Maybe I thought that what I felt for you was Fate."

"_Fate?_" Hermione exclaimed. "You honestly believe in all that bollocks?"

He did not look at all happy with this latest development in Hermione's views on the Fates. "Make fun of me for this too, _Mione._"

"I'm not!" Hermione exclaimed throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Grow up, Ronald! And realize that the world isn't a bed of roses! That things happen that are out of our control. Do you think I _asked_ to fall in love with Draco _Malfoy_ of all people?"

It appeared for a grand total of three seconds that Ron hadn't thought of this at all. But as quickly as this had come, it was gone and Hermione felt all hope was gone. "Why couldn't you have just loved me, Hermione? Am I really so bad?"

Hermione's face dropped into a look of pure pity. "I _tried_! I tired so hard to forget about him, and love you. But it was like trying to ask me to forget that I could walk, and talk, and breath. That I had scars from giving birth to my babies. Impossible…"

Just at that moment, the bailiff opened the door and asked the two to come out into the courtroom. Ron looked at the bailiff and then back at Hermione, fixing he with a stare so empty and void that it took all of Hermione's strength to not fall at his feet and beg forgiveness. He was, after all, one of her best friends. She would have killed anyone who tried to take that away. Well, anyone, but _him_.

**-x-**

Draco waited as patiently as any Malfoy could with Grace just outside the courtroom. He had had to stay away from Hermione for so long that he almost wished that he had murdered Weasley all those years ago. And then run away, this time taking Hermione with him, taking her to a deserted island where they could live Happily Ever After, or whatever bollocks that was.

"How much longer is Mummy going to be in there?" Grace whined from her spot next to him. She was sitting on the floor and using the bench as a stage where she controlled her animated dolls in a wizards duel, a pair she had found in a box of her father's old things. "I'm bored."

"She'll be out here soon."

"I'm hungry."

"Grace. Stop it."

"But, I really am! What if I blow away in a big gust of wind? Or-"

"I hardly doubt that you'll blow away in a gust of wind," Draco stated, glancing sideways at his daughter.

Grace pouted and jabbed one of the dolls with her finger causing it to fall over. His opponent jumped to the occasion and ran on its tiny legs to his fallen enemy, shooting jets of red at the fallen dummy. Draco and Grace watched in amusement. Neither of them tired of watching lesser beings suffer.

Another hour passed in which time, Grace migrated from the bench with her father to the bench across the hall, to the water dispenser down the hall to standing in front of the courtroom doors as if that would prompt her mother to come out faster. Draco had fallen asleep upright, his head lolling against the wall, his hands held loosely in his lap.

Sighing rather heavily, Grace fell on the bench, slumping greatly and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Draco woke with a start, calling out something unintelligible, seeming to take comfort from the fact that when he first looked around, no one was in sight. But as he ran his hands through his hair, he noticed his daughter swinging her feet back and forth beside him.

"What did you say?" Grace innocently asked.

"Nothing that concerns you."

A scowl so deep fell over her face and she took to kicking the underside of the bench with the heels of her feet. Draco sighed, trying in vain to ignore the bumping of the bench. But what little patience the Malfoy line was graced with wasn't passed in full to their youngest male and he found himself, quite suddenly, gripping Grace's arm tightly in his hand, and fixing her with a glare he hadn't felt since he was in France during the Lost Years.

"Stop. Right. Now."

Grace had never looked quite as frightened of her father as she did at that moment. Her eyes glossed over with tears and when Draco released her arm, she scooted down the bench as far as she could, curling into herself and pulling her knees to her chest. Draco didn't want to admit just how horrible he felt at that moment, listening to his daughter attempt in vain to control her tears, but pride withheld him. Besides, his father had done worse things to him, and he hadn't turned out so bad… Hadn't he?

The next two hours passed in tense silence. He seemed to jump for joy when Hermione came bursting from the courtroom and even jumped up to give her a hug of thanks, but his newfound joy was soon burst when he realized that she was crying. No, crying didn't seem to sum it up quite right. She was bawling, even wailing, her sadness to anyone in the vicinity and being clutched to Draco's chest wasn't helping to squash the loudness of her misery.

"Mama?" Grace questioned, pushing between her mother and father to look up at her mothers tear stained face.

Hermione wiped at her face, and bent down, drawing Grace into a hug so powerfully emotional, Grace found tears return for reasons she couldn't decipher.

"You can still see him, Mione," Came Ron's voice. Draco felt his fists tighten. "I won't keep him from you."

Hermione stood shakily to her feet and turned to look at Ron, her face drawn in such a miserable visage that even he looked down in shame.

"What happened?" Draco questioned. He was met with silence. Hermione had picked up Grace despite her age and size and started off down the hall, cradling her baby girl in a way she never had before. Ron looked sadly after them before looking at Malfoy.

"Tell her- tell her that I'm sorry. I didn't know that this was how things would turn out."

"No, maybe not," Draco seethed, "but you hoped with every fiber in your body that it would."

Ron didn't have any strength to deny him this truth and instead cast one last look at Hermione and Grace before taking off in the opposite direction, his head held high as he met his sister and brother-in-law.

Draco hurried off after Hermione, meeting her in front of the lifts where she was still cradling Grace. He placed a hand on her shoulder, meeting her gaze with tenderness he didn't think he had in him. "Let's go home."

**-x-**

Home turned out to be Malfoy Manor, but Hermione severely doubted it mattered anymore. Her arms burned with the effort of carrying her nearly nine-year-old daughter and the fatigue that had hit almost as soon as the judge had declared Ron Weasley custody of Jackson was enough to make her wish she could curl up in a deserted room and fall asleep for the rest of eternity.

A surly house elf had answered the door, taking his masters cloak before disappearing with a pop to dispose of it accordingly. Hermione set Grace on the marbled floor, stroking her hair lovingly before sending her off.

"I need to tell you something, Draco," Hermione said slowly, watching Grace climb the stairs to the second floor. "Something important."

"All right," Draco said softly, dreading the sinking feeling that automatically overtook his stomach. Cautiously he asked "You're not leaving me again, are you?"

Hermione laughed once, a short bark that didn't match her at all. Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "No, I'm not leaving you."

Draco sighed with relief, but remained tense. Any "important" news that Hermione had been withholding from him couldn't be all that great.

She turned to him, holding her hands demurely before her, fixing him with a stare he'd never seen on her face before. It was something that despite her fatigue and moroseness, made her irises glimmer with hidden secrets, one that any second now, she would be sharing with him.

"Well…?" Draco started, causing Hermione to snap out of her reverie and clear her throat. She opened her mouth to speak and had indeed started, clearly stating "I'm" before a loud pop from her direct right startled her into silence. If ever there was a time that Draco had felt murderous to a house elf it was at this moment. But what the creature had to say quickly wetted the fire in his chest and instead doused him with ice.

"Master Malfoy, your grandparents are here and waiting for you in the parlor."

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**A/N: Draco has grandparents that are still living and breathing?? Well, who knows for sure, but in my story they are. I guess its kind of a cliffe. I could have not told you what the elf said, but I'm too nice to do that. Plus, y'all should just be happy that I've updated within three days. :**


	11. SURPRISE!

Chapter Eleven: To Wish Upon Falling Stars

**A/N: I got a couple of "GIVE HERMIONE HER SON BACK DAMN YOU" reviews and my response to you is this: If you're looking for a happy-go-lucky-ride-off-into-the-sunset-everyone-lives-happily-ever-after-and-Draco-turns-out-to-be-a-filthy-rich-prince-from-Arabia then you're reading the wrong story. Or living in a fantasy world. Or quite possibly both. While I love the reviews, and greatly appreciate them, if you proceed to tell me how to write **_**my**_** story, then don't even bother, please. It's like telling J.K. Rowling to rewrite the epilogue, or burn it from shame, because she's not going to do it. She probably likes the way she ended the series because SHE WROTE IT! And now that I'm done ranting…..**

Chapter Eleven: To Wish Upon Falling Stars

"Excuse me?"

Draco knew that he looked like a fool at that moment. He didn't care. He even forgot that Hermione was about to tell him something important. All he could think about was that his grandparents were in the parlor. Waiting for him. And the thing he most wanted to do right now was make Hermione happy, himself happy and then go and spend quality father/daughter time with Grace because he was starting to feel a bit sad about being so harsh on her back at the ministry. The least he could do was let her know that he did, in fact, love her. More than anything. It was more than his father had ever done for him.

The elf raised one forest green eyebrow. Draco was positive that if the elf had been allowed he would have given his master the Are-You-Stupid stare, but the most he could muster was a measly eye-brow raise. Hermione shifted beside him, clearing her throat and looking nervously towards the door that led into the formal parlor. Her brown eyes kept shifting nervously over the door as if the faces of Draco's grandparents might appear somewhere in the wood work.

"Your grandparents have arrived and are currently waiting for you in the parlor, Master Malfoy," The elf repeated, before bowing low and backing away.

"Wait!" Draco said, hoping against all hope that his voice had not carried into the parlor. If he could he desperately hoped that he could just send the elf in and tell them that he wouldn't be returning for a while, preferably, eternity. "How long have they been here?"

The elf stood straight again and said, "Two hours, sir. They asked me to tell you that they will wait until you come, no matter how long."

Hermione heard Draco gulp from beside her. "Right. Tell them we shall be in there momentarily."

"Yes, sir."

"Hermione, you know I love you and everything, and please don't take this the wrong way, but could you please do something with your hair?" Draco spilled out so that the question was run together. Hermione, who had spent hours earlier at the ministry deciphering every sentence out of Ron's mouth for the judge looked at him calmly, but as she heard the last bit of his sentence, her hand went self-consciously to her hair, her fingers running through the thick, frizzy strands. Draco was refusing to meet her eye and instead busied himself in the mirror to the right of the parlor door, straightening out his clothes and running trembling fingers through his own hair.

The only grandparents left to him were that of his dad's side. The ones who had corrupted Lucius and engrained him with Pureblood Pride and Supremacy and bull shit like that. What they would do when they learned of Hermione's heritage, or that of his daughter for the matter, he couldn't say, but he guessed that it would be catastrophic and involving lots of maiming and the end of the ever-great Malfoy Manor. Or maybe he was exaggerating.

Hermione was moving up the stairs, her hands still buried in her hair, mumbling something incoherently under her breath.

"Where are you going?" Draco called up to her. Hermione paused on the stairs and answered slowly, like the elf had done.

"To get Grace." Draco nodded and kept staring at her. "And to fix my hair."

"Right."

Hermione let herself into her new rooms, wandering over to the vanity large enough to fit trice her things. She opened doors, spilling contents onto the floor in her hurry, searching for a hair tie, clip, something that would hold her untamed mass of locks. Her fingers lit on a clip and with trembling fingers she pulled back her hair, winding it into a French twist and securing it to the back of her head sharply, digging in at her scalp.

Meeting members of Draco's family had not been on the To-Do List for today. Mostly it involved curling up with a tub of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey, a large spoon and a rather large, comfortable bed piled high with soft cashmere blankets.

She stumbled across the threshold out into the hall, one hand over her abdomen, clutching at her shirt, any attempt to stay the tremors shaking her body. Grace was sitting on her floor, a large doll house set out before her, setting up house with all the room sets Draco had given her as a belated Christmas gift.

"Mama?" Grace said questioningly when Hermione entered her room after a soft knock. "What's wrong Mama?"

"Nothing, we just need to go downstairs. Daddy's grandparents are here, they want to meet you," Hermione replied, extending her hand, waiting for Grace to clamber to her feet and take it.

"Daddy has grandparents?"

"Yes, hunny." Hermione replied, pressing her pointer and middle fingers to the base of her skull where a dull pain was forming.

"But Daddy doesn't even have parents, how can he have grandparents still?" Grace asked as they neared the staircase.

"Don't ask me questions I don't know the answer to, Grace."

"Well," Grace said smartly, her free hand going to her hip. "How am I supposed to know if you know the answer or not?"

Hermione looked down at Grace and managed a smile. "I don't know, love."

Draco was pacing the marble floors in the Entrance Hall, his left hand worrying his lower lip, rubbing the skin and muscle between his fingers, his eyes transfixed on the black marble. When he heard Hermione and Grace coming down, though, he straightened up and looked at them, his eyes the only part of him showing any discomfort.

"Are you ready?" He asked as they came closer, his eyes flitting over Hermione's hair.

Hermione nodded, her grip on Grace's hand tightening slightly. She looked down at her daughter and smiled broadly, wincing at the pain it induced at the top of her spine. Grace returned a tight-lipped grimace in return, resembling something Draco would have done in school when he didn't want to show how uncomfortable he really was.

A house elf opened the double doors announcing his masters entrance. Draco scowled and walked into the room, walking immediately to a thin stately woman with pure white hair seated on the very edge of the settee by the ornate fireplace. Her face was aristocratic, thin and pointed, showing that she was once quite beautiful but years of scowling and gravity had robbed her of beauty, gifting her with a parenthesis around her lips and a deep ravine of a line between her thick, shaped eyebrows. Draco bowed over her extended hand, pecking her tiny hand with his lips before snapping back upright and addressing the man currently leaning on the fireplace mantle like a scene from a nineteenth century painting.

His white hair was pulled back into a pony-tail at the nape of his neck, secured with a midnight blue ribbon. His face was formed into a scowl, but his eyes were kind and Hermione saw him and Draco smirk at one another in such a way that exuded two boys pulling a practical joke on their only available victim.

"Draco," his grandmother said, curtly. "I trust you've been well."

"Never better, Grandmother." Draco turned and looked at Hermione and Grace who were still standing in the doorway.

His Grandmother noticed and curled her upper lip in disgust. "It's rude to hand around in doorways like an imbecile. Make yourself useful and fix me a cup of tea, Mudblood."

What? Hermione narrowed her eyes and took one step into the room, dragging Grace behind her so that the house elf could finally close the doors, locking her in with a monster. How could that woman _possibly_ know that Hermione was muggle-born?

"Are you deaf along with stupid? Seriously, Draco, where do you pick up these servants? What's happened to a good house elf to take care of the house-hold chores? These Mudbloods are just so incapable. Girl! Make me a cup of tea or it'll be ten lashes for you!" She snapped her fingers toward a tea service sitting just before her on the coffee table.

Draco looked at Hermione with apologetic eyes while the man at the fireplace gave her a look of indifference. Grace was positively trembling with anger beside her mother.

"I will not be ordered about in my own home," Hermione said through clenched teeth. Draco's face morphed into surprise. "Make your own damn tea if you're so thirsty."

Draco's Grandfather laughed heartily.

His Grandmother looked gobsmacked and kept opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water. "Demetrious! Are you going to let a filthy Mudblood talk like that to your wife! Stop laughing!"

Draco cracked a smile at Hermione, his back to his grandparents and held out a hand for Hermione to take. She did so and held her head high, pride filling her for the first time in what felt like years. Demetrious wiped at his eyes and ceased laughing after a moment. He stepped away from the fireplace and clasped his hands behind his back, looking at Hermione with curiosity.

"Grandfather, this is my Hermione."

"'My Hermione', what a title. I must say though that she doesn't quite seem one to be possessed, now does she?" Hermione smiled slightly at him, and Demetrious returned it without trepidation. His attention was turned to Grace. "And who do we have here? A little Malfoy, no doubt!"

"My name is Grace."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful little girl!" Demetrious exclaimed, clapping Draco' shoulder. His wife stood suddenly from her place on the settee and yanked at his other arm, dislodging him.

"Are you mad? Don't you realize that the little bastard is a half-blood? A member of your own family has bred with a _Mudblood_!" She turned on Draco then, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Your father would be ashamed of you!"

Draco didn't move or even acknowledge that he had heard a word she had said. He merely looked at her with indifferent eyes and held onto Hermione's hand, conveying his true feelings. "I'd like you to leave my house, Grandmother."

"I beg your pardon?" The old woman looked completely flabbergasted. Her hand dropped a couple of inches and her mouth hung open for a few precious seconds until she snapped back and dropped her hand to her side, her mouth pulling into a tight line. She didn't say a word to them, merely hiked up her long robes and nearly flew to the fireplace where she disappeared in a blast of green flames moments later.

"Well, that was interesting!" Demetrious laughed, clapping his hands together. "But I must say that I quite hungry. Shall we have dinner started?"

**-x-**

Grace was practically falling asleep at the table when Demetrious finally excused himself under the pretense of calming his wife before another war was started. He left quietly and without a goodbye while Hermione trekked upstairs with her daughter, struggling under her weight which had seemed so light this morning. The place at the base of her skull had begun to throb again throughout dinner and the three glasses of wine didn't have the desired effect she'd thought they would.

Her eyes were watering and her arms and hands were shaking when she finally made it to Grace's room, only to nearly drop her dead-weight child on the threshold. Falling against the threshold she fought to regain her breath and stumbled over to Grace's bed, trying her hardest to keep from waking her.

Grace stretched like a cat once in her bed and curled over onto her side. Hermione smoothed her blond hair over her head, spreading it like a halo over the pillow case. "I love you so much sweetheart."

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**A/N: Sorry if the end seems a bit random, I'm, as I write, in New Jersey, at the Holiday Inn finishing this so I'm a bit scatter-brained. Texans are not meant to be on the road for two days. LOL! So tomorrow we're heading into New York City and I won't be uploading for another couple of days until I get home and a decent night's sleep. So I apologize about that. Hope it satisfies and in answer to the guess someone put in about Hermione being pregnant, guess again! She's not pregnant. :**


	12. The Visitation

A/N: Well, it would seem that many of y'all don't read the author's note, which is OK, I don't either all the time, but NO

**A/N: Well, it would seem that many of y'all don't read the author's note, which is OK, I don't either all the time, but NO!! HERMIONE IS **_**NOT**_** PREGNANT!! I hope that clarifies everything. **

Chapter Twelve: The Visitation

Hermione was sitting in the ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley, feeling every bit as nettled as she was sure her companion across her did. Ron was stirring his ice cream into a smooth, creamy texture as Jackson and Grace interacted in a way they never had before. Grace was sweet and loving, doting on her baby brother and helping him to handle his spoon till he had mastered the instrument far beyond the capability of a nearly three-year-old.

Ron took a bite of the ice cream and chanced a glance up at Hermione who was staring out into the crowd. Her brown eyes were dimmed and her shoulder slumped. She looked worse for wear.

"Are-" Ron hesitated before continuing. "Are you alright, Hermione?"

Hermione turned and looked at him. The judge had mandated that they meet in public places and she was very aware of the others seated around her, listening in to their conversation. The divorce had gained new public awareness into the gritty, behind-the-scenes instances of the Golden Trio.

"I don't know, Ron."

He sighed and looked back to his ice cream, forcing another bite into his mouth. Hermione watched Grace and Jackson, tears gathering in her eyes. She forced them back and turned away. She wouldn't cry in public.

"I know that things haven't been all that great, but," Ron paused, twirling his spoon absently, "I was your friend before I was your husband, and, well, I just want you to know that you could come to me, tell me things, as a friend, if ever you needed."

Things between them had been so hot-and-cold lately that it took Hermione a few seconds to come to the conclusion that he sincerely meant what he said. His blue eyes looked to her imploringly, and she nodded her head in response to his admission. It wasn't easy to admit that, despite their recent hostility, and the affair Hermione had committed, they still had a bond, a loving and platonic one, which would most likely never disappear, no matter how hard they tried.

Jackson squealed in delight over something Grace did, and Hermione and Ron looked to them, each smiling in turn at the display. Hermione had always wanted lots of children; having been an only child was hard, and often she'd longed for a playmate, while Ron, having so many brothers and sister could only wish that his children were each doted upon equally, or to have only two or three. To see his son with his sister warmed him, and it was then that he hated what had happened, to have separated them. It would have killed him, in hindsight, to be separated from his own siblings.

Hermione cleared her throat and Ron looked to her, noticing with slight worry the frown that was growing over Hermione's face, the shaking of her hands.

"Are you positive that you are alright?" Ron asked, concern finding its way into his tone. Hermione looked up at him, fighting he could tell to rid herself of whatever was plaguing her. Her lips were white with the effort she used to keep from crying out. "I don't know what you tell Malfoy, or even if he notices, but I've known you practically all my life, so no bull shit, Hermione."

Grace gasped and reprimanded Ron heartily before promptly forgetting and returning to amusing her brother, licking the curve of her spoon and sticking it to her nose where it dangled, seemingly of its own accord.

Hermione bit her lip as the pain faded and she gave Ron a dazzling smile willing to God that the tears gathered in her eyes would not fall. And they didn't. She glanced at her watch and noticing the time, stood rather suddenly.

"I don't mean to seem rude, but I promised Harry I'd met him today, before I left, about twenty minutes ago," Hermione rushed over the explanation, turning and gathering her bag and jacket. She pulled Grace from her seat telling her to say goodbye and that she'd be seeing them soon. Ron stood slowly and took up Jackson, who had a chocolate mustache on his lip and hands covered with the sticky treat. She chuckled slightly, wincing at the small pain it induced and wetted a napkin with her water, wiping at his face and hands.

Ron breathed deeply, relishing in the closeness. He couldn't for the life of him see a reason in why Hermione had left him, and in that moment, anger swept over him, but longing and a empty hole in his cavity somewhere close to his heart caused a moroseness to sweep his body. Before he could stop himself, he had stooped and planted a kiss on her cheek. Hermione stilled, becoming very rigid, her eyes avoiding his own at all costs. A second later she had pecked Jackson's cheek and said curtly, "Goodbye Ronald", before heading off with Grace in tow.

**-x-**

Harry greeted her warmly enough, questioning her over and over again as to what had delayed her.

"Was it Ron? You know he just doesn't know how to deal with what's happened. I mean, the bloke still loves you, Mione."

"I know, Harry!" Hermione said shrilly, attracting the notice of several other shoppers. Lowering her voice she continued. "I'm sorry. I've just been, out of sorts lately."

Harry nodded. "I kind of thought that this divorce thing would be hard on everyone. It's just getting over it now. I mean, you and Ron _aren't_ together. It's almost like the sun rising in the west or something…."

Hermione sighed and looked over a pair of dragon hide gloves, feigning intense interest. "Well, I don't really think that there are soul mates, Harry. It puts too much strain on love. Then what would happen if you didn't get your soul mate and spent your life with the wrong person?"

"I don't know, Hermione, what is it like?" Harry questioned evenly.

Hermione looked at Harry with barely disguised shock and anger. "Excuse me?"

"All I know Hermione is that you and Ron were in love since first year, even though the both of you were too stupid to see it, but all of a sudden Malfoy comes waltzing into your life and you're suddenly enamored with him, forgetting Ron and even me and all of your other friends." Harry fingered a broom cleaning kit, similar to the one Hermione had given him years ago for Christmas. How long ago school seemed. "It was just strange. The way your love for him vanished into thin air. In a way, I think it never did. You just didn't want to believe it anymore."

"That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard you say, Harry," Hermione remarked coldly.

"Is it?" Harry asked sullenly. "Look, I didn't want to meet just so we could end on bad terms, but you're my best friend and I know you. Probably better than you know yourself."

"Yeah," Hermione muttered. "That exactly what Ronald said."

"Do you really love him?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Who? Ron?" Hermione questioned, staring hard at him.

"I know the answer to that," Harry waved off the answer. "I mean Malfoy. Do you really love him?"

"Of course I love him," Hermione answered a bit too quickly. "I wouldn't have left Ron had I not."

Harry nodded but didn't seem satisfied. It was almost as though he saw through Hermione's reason, seeing what she herself could not.

"Mama, can I get this?" Grace asked suddenly, appearing at her side and brandishing a pair of boots that looked to cost more than her education. "Pretty please, Mama?"

"I don't think so, Grace. Maybe you'll get them at Christmas."

Grace pouted. "Daddy would get them for me!"

Hermione turned on her daughter suddenly. "Yes, well your Daddy isn't here, is he?"

Grace shrank back and even Harry flinched with the hardness of Hermione's words. Without another word Grace ran away into the store, disappearing amongst the other shoppers. Hermione rubbed at her temples and groaned.

"Are you alright?" Harry watched Hermione sway on her feet and rushed over to steady her.

"Yes, thanks." Hermione inhaled deeply and stood straight. "Just a headache is all. I'd better find Grace before she takes the notion of running away. It was nice to see you Harry."

Without an embrace or further acknowledgement, Hermione turned and followed her daughter, leaving Harry to himself. "Goodbye, Hermione."

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**A/N: Wow! I'm so sorry that this is so late in coming. I've been so busy this month! I think I've traveled more than I ever have in my entire life these past thirty days. I apologize for the shortness of length and if there are any mistakes, just pass over them, please. **

**Well, I was accepted to drama school in New York City and am moving up there within the next three weeks or so, so please don't be angry if I don't update for a while. Until I'm settled, updates might be far and few between. **

**Please review!**


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